The Bloody Ones
by kungfuwaynewho
Summary: The Minbari tell a fable about a dark race of butchers who live in the dead of space.  They sneak into civilized places to hunt and kill.  A cautionary story for children.
1. Veniant Carnifices

Veniant Carnifices 

_8 February 2260_

_1000 hours_

Jayaram had passed being scared a long time ago; now he was terrified, sitting against the wall in his quarters in the pitch black. The hull breach alarm had sounded, and an automated recording ordered everyone to remain in their quarters, put themselves between a hatch and the hull. Jay had already been in his quarters, having returned from his night shift not fifteen minutes earlier. He retrieved his coveralls from the pile of dirty clothes on the floor of his tiny room and waited for the call for all station maintenance personnel to report, but the call never came.

Jay had thought about just going out anyway, but he didn't know where the breach was, if it was under control, and he really didn't feel like getting sucked out into space. He didn't hear the tell-tale creaking of the bulkheads, though, so he felt reasonably confident that it was on the other side of the station, or was small, or both.

Just as he was beginning to convince himself that there had been a false alarm, the lights went out. Completely out. "Lights. Lights!" No response. Jay had fumbled around, his quarters suddenly alien and hard to navigate for all that they were five paces square; he barked his shins on a table and nearly fell, cursing. He finally made it to the panel next to the Babcom, pressed the buttons, but he might as well have saved himself the journey across the room; nothing happened. The Babcom itself was dead, too. Jay sat down, back against the wall. Cascading systems failure? Would heat go next, the air recycling? But no, he wasn't getting cold; quite the contrary, he felt like he was burning up. He could hear the hiss of the air unit in his room, and he clung to that tiny shred of comfort.

Jay waited. It was unnerving, sitting in the dark, eyes wide open but nothing other than total, complete blackness in front of him. He wondered if this was what it was like to be blind. Time lost all meaning. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the dark. It could have been one hour, it could have been five. He tried to count his heartbeats, but lost track sometime after three hundred.

He couldn't stay in here anymore. Hull breach be damned. Jay stood, hands out, and made his way right in front of the door. Waited. Nothing. Maybe the automatic sensor was on the same circuit as the lights. "Door, open." Obstinate silence from the door. "Open!" And the panic started settling in. Jay returned to the instrument panel, found the toggle at the bottom, switched it back and forth. Nothing. Back to the door, pressing on it with his hands, then hitting it, then kicking it, then screaming at it. Minutes, hours, who knew? Nothing.

Jay stumbled back into the blackness of his room, heart threatening to hammer straight out of his chest. He knew he had to get himself under control, knew that he just needed to wait until the systems came back online, but he stumbled over the table again and this time he did fall, head hitting the wall as he came down. Bright white pain flashed behind his eyes, and after a few gasping breaths Jay reached up and gingerly touched the top of his head, expecting to pull his hand back sticky and wet with blood, but it was dry. He'd managed to keep from cracking his skull open; small blessings.

Jay rolled over onto his back, swearing he would not cry. He hadn't cried in fifteen years, not since he'd buried his mother, and he was not going to cry now.

There was a pounding outside his door.

Jay pulled himself up on his elbows, looked that way, instinct stronger than intellect; blackness, of course. There was a horrible wrenching sound, metal on metal, and Jay found himself suffused with calm. This was it. Overall hull integrity had finally given way, and the station was tearing apart. Jay only hoped it would be quick. Then his door opened, tugged upward in starts and jerks. Dim red light in the corridor outlined the dark silhouette of a figure in his door, oddly shaped; probably carrying equipment.

"Here, I'm in here! Thank goodness." Jay pulled himself to his feet, shaking, and by the time he looked back up the figure had entered. His next words died before they passed his lips. He could smell something, and he thought it came from the person in his quarters. A sickly sweet, rotten smell. Jay wanted to ask what his name was, if he worked for the station, if he knew anything about the breach, but instead found himself backing up against the wall. He thought he'd been afraid before. He thought he'd known panic. He had never felt anything like this.

The figure came closer, relentless. Jay had one moment to wish that he could have died in the vacuum of space before it was on him. Then there was pain, and there were tears, and there were screams.

It was a long time before Jay finally died.

xxx

_0900 hours_

Ivanova had just ran back to her quarters to grab some paperwork when the breach alarm sounded. She called Sheridan, then Garibaldi, then anyone she could think of on her link, but there was nothing, not even static. It was dead. She went to the Babcom, but it was dead, too. She wasn't going to twiddle her thumbs in her quarters, but by the time she'd decided to go out and see what the hell was going on, the lights went out and her quarters were sealed.

Ivanova spent two minutes running through every curse she knew, in every language, and after she calmed down she dropped to her hands and knees, slowly crawled into her bedroom, to her closet, to the tool kit on the floor in the corner. No need to hurry; she didn't want to give herself a concussion, break a bone. Tool kit tucked into her jacket, she spent a few minutes feeling around for a flashlight, even though she knew she didn't have one, hadn't had one since she'd lost the last one when she transferred to B5. She didn't even have any fucking candles. She crawled back to the Babcom, slow and steady wins the race. She kept her eyes closed; it was easier than confronting the total darkness. Settling down on the floor, she pulled the tool kit out, felt around till her fingers identified what she needed: a screwdriver, an Allen wrench, pliers. She already had her pocket knife.

Off came the panel underneath the Babcom, exposing the workings underneath. Ivanova carefully felt around, trying to identify everything before she started. There was the main wiring, there was the video hook-up, there was the audio. And there was the emergency power, a self-contained battery unit. The Babcom should have cut over as soon as main power was lost; she'd have to do it manually. Ivanova cut the main wiring, stripped them by feel, hooked them over.

Cool blue light flooded the room, insanely bright after half an hour of darkness. Ivanova stood, worked the kink out of her neck. "Call to Captain Sheridan." The bland computer voice informed her that a call could not be placed to that unit. "Call to Chief Garibaldi." Same response. She tried half a dozen others to no avail. "Open a channel to Stellarcom." A channel could not be opened. "Open priority gold channel, voice authorization Ivanova." Nothing.

"Motherfucking piece of shit son of a bitch!" There, she felt better. Using the light from the Babcom - and that's all it was good for now - she gathered up her tools and went to the door. She had to move her couch first, but then she got to the access panel and removed it, too, and started to worm her way in between the bulkheads toward the hatch mechanism.

xxx

_0845 hours_

"It's not a toy."

"I know it's not a toy, Delenn." Sheridan had met her outside her quarters a few minutes ago, and they were on their way to a Council meeting. She was wearing her pretty green dress, the one that clung to her figure more than her usual robes, and Sheridan allowed himself a moment to sneak an appraising look.

"You just want to play with it. How do you put it? 'Take it out for some spins.'"

"I do not just want to take the _White Star_ out for a spin. It's a brand-new ship, a mix of technologies, and I need to know what it's capable of. A weapon is only as good as the training you have to use it."

"Of course, John," she said, meaning nothing of the sort. Sheridan grinned down at her, ready to suggest that she could come along, supervise, when the alarm sounded.

"Hull breach! Hull breach! Remain in your quarters. Secure a hatch between yourself and the hull. Wait for the all-clear. Move in an orderly fashion. Do not panic. Hull breach! Hull breach!" Sheridan had grabbed Delenn's hand after the first 'hull breach' and pulled her back in the direction of her quarters, running. Proving that idiotic behavior was universal, all throughout Green Sector aliens poked their heads out of their doors, trying to see what was going on.

"Get into your quarters, all of you! Right now!" Sheridan shouted, and then they entered Delenn's rooms. Sheridan opened a line on his link. "Ivanova, come in!" Silence. He pushed the button to open a line again, lifted the link to his ear. He didn't hear the familiar low hum. Delenn's voice on the other side of the room. "Ivanova, come in! Garibaldi! C and C! Damn it!" He looked up - Delenn was in front of her Babcom, trying to place calls. "Anything?"

"The Babcom does not appear to be working." He joined her, resisted the urge to thump the wall.

"Open priority gold channel, voice authorization Sheridan." Normally he hated the computer's voice, but he would have given anything to hear it now. The comm system just sat there, unresponsive, screen dark. "Okay. Shit." He took a deep breath, looked down at Delenn, who was watching him closely. "I want you to stay here."

"The recording said to stay in one's quarters. You should not leave."

"I'm not going to just sit here, not if the station's in trouble." He squeezed her upper arms, smiled down in as reassuring a way as he could muster. He hoped it didn't turn out to be a grimace. "Just stay here, okay?"

The lights went out. He felt her step closer to him, hands just resting on his chest. "Has the station lost power?" she asked, and the question sent a jab of alarm through him. He listened, blocked out the sounds of their own breathing, the steady clip-clop of his pulse.

"No, the air recycler's still on." Then Delenn squeezed his shoulders; he could feel the warmth from her hands even through his jacket and shirt.

"Don't move." She left him then, and he heard her slowly make her way across the room. Sheridan thought about following her anyway, but couldn't remember exactly where her low little table was, and didn't really want to trip and kill himself. Then he heard a hiss, and a candle flame filled the room with flickering light. Delenn lit a few more - the little table was clear over there, damn it, he would have been fine - and went to one of her lamps, waved her hand over it. No response. "What happens if there's a hull breach?" she asked.

"Emergency bulkheads should drop, seal it off. I don't know why we lost lights; all primary systems have about three levels of redundancy, and everything's housed in the center of the station. Circuits might have overloaded; they should be back on soon." Delenn nodded, went back to her candles, gracefully sat before them. Meditating, he guessed. "You're going to stay here?" he asked, needing to confirm that before he left.

"I have no desire to be pulled out through a hole in the hull, John. Please just come over here and sit with me."

"I can't."

"Then please be careful," she said, and Sheridan fought a fleeting urge to ask her for a good-luck kiss.

"Aye-aye, sir," he said instead, and headed for the door. And nearly walked right into it. "What the hell? Open." He waved his hand in front of it, then tried to open it manually using the toggle on the instrument panel by the Babcom. "Oh, give me a break." Sheridan paced back and forth in front of the door, hating being stuck, hating not knowing what was happening out there. Something strange was going on; he might have temporarily reassured Delenn, but he hadn't reassured himself. All necessary systems were kept well away from the outside of the station so something like a hull breach could be managed without sacrificing overall station integrity. He couldn't think of any reason why they would have lost lights, station communications, and apparently the ability to open the hatches, but not heating and rotation and air.

He sat down heavily on Delenn's little couch, thinking. "It seems the station agrees with me," Delenn said, not even glancing his way, her gaze still on her candles. "It's best to stay here." He wanted to glare at her, just a little bit, but she was probably right. Still...

"We could probably get this door to open manually," he said, trying to figure out where the mechanism would be. Between the walls, to the left of the door. There had to be an access panel. He stood, shoved aside the couch he'd just been sitting on. Yep, there it was. He knelt, looked at the corners. "Delenn, do you have any tools? A screwdriver?" Even as he asked, he knew she wouldn't have anything like that. She came over and crouched beside him, hand on his shoulder to brace herself. She examined the screws, then went over to her kitchenette.

Delenn returned with one of the little forks he had used when he'd joined her for that (incredibly long) ceremonial meal. Sheridan fiddled with it a little bit, turning the ends this way and that, and found that if he put one prong in at an angle, he could get the screw to turn.

"This is going to take forever," he said, sighing. Then Delenn took her own little fork, went to the other side of the panel, and started on the top screw.

"I think I will be able to finish before you," she said, that half-smile on her face.

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, only a statement of fact. You're too easily distracted. I will probably finish both before you have finished one." Oh, she was good. But there was no way in hell he'd let her win. The game was on.

xxx

_0615 hours_

The being who allowed others to call it Kosh moved through the corridors of Babylon 5. Corridors. Paths from one potentiality to another. Humans, Narn, Centauri, Minbari, Drazi, Brakiri, dozens of others; they walked through the corridors, in easily predicted patterns, like drops of water along an incline, molecules of gas in an enclosed environment. Individual flickering lights of consciousness, each walking its own path, each trammeled in by only having so many paths to walk.

The station was its own flickering light of consciousness. Atoms in a body; people in Babylon 5. Kosh was part of that consciousness. Looked out through the station's sensors, listened to the quiet hum of the universe, tasted the photons captured by the solar arrays, allowed itself to be held by the centrifugal force generated by the station's rotation.

Kosh knew they were coming the instant the ship came out of the jump gate. The bloody ones. They had hidden their ship inside another ship, but there were signs, clues. Unnoticed indicators. Kosh knew what would happen. They would dock, and everything would be in order. Puppets would enter the station. The puppets already knew where to go, what to do; the broken ones did not move anywhere without knowing to where they were moving. The puppets would herd everyone like beasts into pens, keep them there so the angry ones could sample as they chose. Some would survive. Most would not.

Kosh could inform the humans in command of Babylon 5. It would be easy. They had plenty of time to fire on the ship, and the banished ones would be destroyed. Not all of them, of course. All would never be destroyed. But these, they could be dealt with.

Kosh thought, in the space of time between two hydrogen atoms colliding inside Epsilon, and in the moment they became helium, and a new burst of energy sprang forth into existence, Kosh made its decision.

Kosh had brought an Inquisitor to the station. It was important that the two be tested. It was necessary to know whether they were ready, whether they were the right people. If they were not, Kosh would find others. The Inquisitor had reported that they had passed the test, but Kosh was not sure. They had formed a personal bond, and Kosh feared that the bond invalidated the results of the test.

That was not all. There were others on board this station who would come to prominence in the war to come, who would be required to stand and fight with the same willingness to sacrifice themselves for the cause. They had not been tested.

The miserable ones would make a good test. Far better than the Inquisitor. They would test many important attributes, most of which the lesser races lacked; intelligence, courage, creativity. If the people on board this station could not pass the test administered by the injured ones, then they were not the right people for the coming war. They would need to be replaced. It was better to know now.

Kosh would not inform the humans who ran the station. The ship would be allowed to dock. There would be a test.

Let the butchers come.


	2. Nuts and Bolts

Nuts and Bolts

_8 February 2260_

_1130 hours_

When the click finally came, barely audible through the bulkheads, Ivanova laid her head against the bundle of wires and sent thanks up to God. Almost two hours wriggling through the tiny space between the walls, doing her best to see by the dim light of the Babcom. Almost two hours trying to work out the connection to the hatch, trying to figure out the manual release.

There was one brief moment of panic, when Ivanova started backing up, and her shoulders got caught between one side of the wall and the metal box housing the circuitry for her quarters. She stopped, breathed, took the panic bubbling up and shoved it back down. _You are not going to get stuck between the walls and die. This is not how Susan Ivanova will meet her end. _She crawled forward a few inches, then backed up again, rotating her shoulders as she did so, and managed to squeeze through with a hairsbreadth to spare.

One last shimmy, twisting at the waist, and she was out. Ivanova stretched out on her back, breathed in fresh air, let the sweat evaporate off her face. Then she grabbed her spare PPG, tucked her tool kit back into her jacket, all three pocket knives - including the one that had belonged to her brother, that she had never used. One knife in each pocket, the third in a shoe. What else might she need? She couldn't think of a thing, though she was sure there was something obvious she was missing.

Ivanova got ready to leave, unable to shake the feeling she was walking into a firefight. She'd had plenty of time to think while trying to get her hatch opened, and she couldn't help but feel that something was behind what systems had failed, and which ones still functioned. It couldn't just be random chance. Everyone had just enough to time to get into their quarters or another space that had a secure hatch; then the lights and comm went out, and the hatches sealed.

It was though everyone had been sorted away, then kept for later. Ivanova didn't like the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the thought.

She pushed her door up just enough to slide underneath, peeked up and down the corridor. Deserted, lit by the dim emergency panels set every few meters. No sign of a hull breach. It was unbearably creepy, and Ivanova held her PPG out in front of her, headed toward Command and Control. It was as good a place as any to start.

xxx

_1100 hours_

Sheridan finally got the last screw to loosen, and untwisted the rest of it with his fingers. Delenn had finished removing the two screws on her side of the access panel at least five minutes ago, and had thankfully retreated into her bedroom, didn't sit and watch him continue to struggle. He was still a tiny bit ticked that she had managed to beat him.

Sheridan pulled the panel off, set it aside. Stuck his head in and looked around. His eyes had adjusted a long time ago to the candlelight that illuminated Delenn's quarters, but there wasn't enough to see by between the walls. He stood, retrieved a candle, and brought it back.

"I see you finally finished," Delenn said, coming up behind him.

"Now don't be a sore winner." Goddamn, but this space was small. He could barely squeeze his shoulders in, just managed to twist enough to look around, toward the door. The release and lock mechanism had to be on the other side of this big metal box, close to the hatch. Of course. "Okay, hold this." He handed Delenn the candle, and then it was five interminable minutes trying to wedge himself in at a right angle. He finally managed it, only to find himself completely blocked by the metal box. If he ripped off one of his arms, he might be able to squeeze through.

"Son of a bitch!" Sheridan pulled himself back out, claustrophobia mounting, and finally collapsed on the floor. At some point during this process, Delenn had wet a cloth, and she laid it on his forehead. "Thank you," he said distantly, worrying about what the hell he was going to do now. Rested a minute, then sat up.

"Now you hold this." Delenn handed him the candle, and before he could even draw in a breath to protest, she slithered into the hole in the wall, turning and making her way easily to the right.

"Show off."

"Pass me the candle," she said, and he did. A few moments, then: "All right. There is a bundle of wires here, running up alongside the door. I can see some kind of apparatus near the top. That must be the system that opens and closes the door?"

"Sounds right."

"So what do I do?" Good question. Sheridan didn't have the foggiest idea how the hatch mechanism worked; his plan had been to fiddle with shit until something happened.

"Um, are the wires different colors?"

"Yes," she said. "One blue, two green, one red, two yellow, one black. No, two black." Eight different wires, five categories. Lock, automatic sensor, power, magnetic seal, and the connection to the call box and card key slot outside. Which two would need only one wire?

"John?"

"Cut the red and the blue." He handed her his pocket knife, waited.

"All right." He didn't expect that anything immediately apparent would happen, but hoped the lock had been disconnected. The other wire was probably the auto sensor. That left the call box, power, and the mag seal. The mag seal was what they wanted.

"Okay, Delenn? Cut one each of the other three colors. One yellow, one green, one black. Then strip the wires back about half an inch."

"So that the wire is exposed?"

"Yeah." Sheridan sat back and waited. He had no idea whether or not this would work. It was possible that it would turn out to screw up the hatch so much they'd be stuck here for the duration of what was going on, and need to be cut out.

"The wires are exposed." He had a feeling that the yellow was the call box. He didn't know why, but he'd learned a long time ago to trust his instincts.

"Wrap the green and the black wires together." Send some juice into the mag seal circuit, see what happened.

_Click._

Sheridan stood, checked out the hatch. Damn, and the first try, too. He wondered if Susan had managed to figure it out, as well. If not, he would crow about it for weeks. He helped Delenn out, and she was looking at him oddly.

"What?" he asked, and he dusted her off a bit as they stood.

"You're enjoying yourself." And Sheridan realized that he did, in fact, have a big ol' smile on his face.

"Well, sure. It was fun. Like a puzzle." He got a different look now, one of his favorite looks, the one that said that she found him a little strange and a little funny, but she'd keep him anyway. "Okay," he said. "Now I can get out, but I don't like leaving you in a room that doesn't lock. I suppose if you heard something coming, you could shimmy between the walls again, pull the access panel up against the hole. At least until you were sure it was a friendly."

"You want me to hide between the walls, while you go out and run around by yourself?" He didn't like the tone of her voice, the tone that said pretty soon it wouldn't matter what he said, she was going to tell him how it was going to be and that would be that. Sheridan pulled out his PPG, checked the charge.

"I won't be alone."

"Indeed." Delenn went back into her bedroom then, and returned a few moments later holding what looked like an oversized napkin ring. "Let's go."

"Delenn," he protested, "I have no idea what's going on out there."

"All the more reason I should be with you."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Then don't do anything ill-advised that would require me to rescue you." With that she stepped around him and lifted the door. Sheridan ducked under, held it for her, and the two of them set out.

xxx

_1130 hours_

Takir had watched in disbelief as the casino cleared out when the hull breach alarm sounded. They were right on one of the central corridors. There were probably a dozen hatches between the casino and the hull. But everyone was running like a fire had just broken out. Takir moved with the crowd, then ducked under one of the roulette tables, waited - it wasn't long before he was the only one left.

And then he had made a little money.

Now Takir was making one last circuit of the place, forty thousand credits stuffed in his pockets and in the briefcase he'd found on the floor - real Earth leather, probably worth four or five thousand credits alone. Not a soul to be seen the whole time; no gamblers and no station personnel, and certainly no security. Even the lights going out hadn't dampened his spirits; the emergency lights had come on soon afterward, and that was more than enough light to see by. The whole thing was like a dream come true.

Takir made his way to the access stair, not even bothering with the transport tube; if the lights were out, then it probably wasn't working. He kept reaching down with his free hand to pat the money in his pocket, confirm that it was still there.

Someone was coming up the stairs behind him. Another enterprising soul? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Takir didn't feel like explaining himself, and he certainly didn't feel like sharing. He started to jog up the stairs, and just as he was thinking that he'd been hearing things, that no one was following him at all, it came at him from behind, claws and teeth tearing.

Takir never even saw what it was.

xxx

_1200 hours_

Ivanova didn't like it. She didn't like any of it. She hadn't passed a single person since leaving her quarters, and even though she knew her way around Babylon 5 like the back of her hand, something about the endless empty corridors made her feel like she was lost, or caught in some kind of dream.

C and C had been locked up tight as a drum. Sheridan had been heading to a Council meeting so she didn't even bother with his office. Now she was making her way to security, hoping that she could find Garibaldi. _Someone_ had to have stayed out in the open. The idea that all two hundred and fifty thousand people on board this station had actually followed directions was too absurd to be believed.

Ivanova smelled the blood before she saw it. Turning around a bend in the corridor, there was an opened hatch fifty meters away from her. The call box beside it had been destroyed, a jumble of broken metal and plastic hanging loosely by one wire. The door itself was crumpled at the bottom. Ivanova found herself looking at these things rather than the puddle of blood and flesh in the middle of the corridor that at one point had been a person.

She gingerly approached. It was hard to tell by the red light of the emergency panels, but she thought she could make out an EarthForce uniform. The arms and legs were gone - ripped, not cut off. The face was mutilated beyond recognition. Based on the size and shape of the torso, Ivanova thought it was a woman.

She looked back at the door. The crumples in the metal formed an upside-down V at the bottom. It looked as though something had been put between the door and the floor, and levered it up by force. Ivanova slipped underneath, into the dark quarters. There was just enough light from the hall to find a t-shirt on the back of the couch. She grabbed it, came back out, and gently laid it on top of the woman's ruined face.

xxx

_1215 hours_

It hadn't occurred to Sheridan that the transport tubes wouldn't be working, either. Thankfully the closest one wasn't that far from Delenn's quarters, but they still had to backtrack to the nearest access stair, and Sheridan begrudged every second they had to spend out in the corridors.

There was an almost palpable sense of dread in the air, and walking these empty halls, lit only by bloody red light, was unnerving. He was glad of Delenn's presence beside him, kept glancing over at her. She might have seemed as calm as ever to an outside observer, but Sheridan could see that she was worried, a little scared. She was clutching that napkin holder thing; he wondered if it was some kind of religious thing, a charm or something.

They made it to the stair, and inside a smaller space, no long halls stretching behind and ahead, Sheridan felt secure enough to sit and take a short break. He knew it was all in his head, but it felt like there just wasn't enough air.

"There's no hull breach, is there?" Sheridan just grunted. "What do you think is causing this?" she asked, sitting very close.

"I'm not thinking about it. I just want to get up to C and C. That's as far as I'm thinking."

"I'm worried about Lennier." Sheridan was sure that was true, but was also sure that Lennier, wherever he was right now, was far more worried about her.

"I'm sure he's fine." Sheridan stood, started up the steps. They'd have five floors to go, then down to C and C; it would be a good forty-five minutes before they got there. "Probably just meditating." They climbed the stairs in silence for awhile, and he could hear himself breathing a little harder. Too much sitting behind a desk lately. Delenn, of course, betrayed no sign of exertion at all.

They found the body on the third floor up.

"In Valen's name," she whispered, backing up against the wall. Sheridan made himself come close, lean down to look. It had been...shredded. There was no other word for it. He looked like he'd taken a swim in an industrial meat grinder. A Drazi, Sheridan thought, and a well-off one as well, if the credits scattered on the floor around him were any indication.

"Someone did this," he said, standing and going to Delenn.

"No, not someone. Something." He looked at her then. He had seen her after they opened the Markab's death chamber, he had seen her after her battle with the Inquisitor, but he had never seen her like this. She looked absolutely terrified, and it was that, and not the experiences of the morning, or even the body he had just examined, that made Sheridan start to become afraid for the first time.

"We need to get to C and C," Delenn said, grabbing his hand and pulling him up the next flight of stairs.

"Do you know what did that, Delenn?"

"We need to get somewhere safe. Hurry."

xxx

_1315 hours_

They'd already lost two patients. One more was critical, and unless the power and lights came back on within the next hour, they'd lose her, too. They'd probably lose her anyway, at this point. There were a few machines that ran on battery power, but most were hooked up to station power, and none of those were operational. The dim glow from the displays of the battery-powered machines, the emergency panels here and there, and Dr. Hobbs's book light that she had stuck in her front pocket facing out - that's all the light they had. It was enough to get by, especially now that everyone's eyes had adjusted, but the patients were scared, agitated, and each minute it just got worse.

Franklin was calm. It almost felt like he was standing outside himself, watching himself move around Medlab, see to one patient after another, continue to check the lights, the comm system, the computers, the doors. He didn't have enough time to worry; he didn't have enough energy to be afraid.

_Check on Na'Thar. See if we have any more Narn plasma. Distribute pain medication to the infirmary. The IV drip on the Drazi patient needs to be changed. Try to make a call to C and C. Change the bandage on Dr. Williams. Try to make a call on the link. Make sure Diana is comfortable. Prepare a dose of morphine, just in case. Try and see if the doors will open. Check how much water we have left._

So it was that when the woman first entered Medlab, the doors sliding closed behind her, Franklin hardly blinked at first. She stood there, just inside, staring at him.

"Are you all right? Do you need medical assistance?" No response. Then Franklin gasped, understanding the implication of her sudden appearance. "How did you get the bulkhead to raise?" But even before Franklin finished asking the question, he got a good look at the Minbari woman's eyes. They were vacant, staring at him but also through him, at some infinite point in the distance. Franklin noticed that her robes were old, threadbare; her bone crest was carved into sharp, jagged peaks.

"Can I help you?" And then she smiled at him. A smile that grew and grew, and Franklin felt the spit dry up in his mouth. It wasn't a smile, it wasn't a grin - it was a rictus, some kind of grotesque parody of a smile. The woman walked toward him, in slow, jerky steps. The grin never faded, her eyes still staring at him and yet through him. Franklin took a step back, then another, but then he was against the wall and still she advanced, inexorable.

Franklin suddenly realized that the woman wasn't really a woman. That whatever stood in front of him was just a shell. That when he looked into those eyes, he was looking at something old, unfathomably old.

She had something in her hand that she held out to him. Grinning, grinning. Out of the corner of his eye, Franklin saw Hobbs walk up, staring at the two of them. He lifted one hand just enough to tell her to stop, and she did. Her hand stole out to the instrument tray nearby, and then Franklin wasn't looking her way anymore, because the woman was only a meter away, and the thing in her hand was just in front of his face.

Franklin took it. He knew what it was made from the instant he held it in his hands, but he looked at it anyway. A piece of leather, with five letters carved into it. Not just leather, though. This had come from the skin of an arm, human, maybe, or Centauri. Franklin read the letters again; he knew he would see this word, carved into once living flesh, for the rest of his life.

_BLOOD_

The thing that had once been a woman laughed then, a chuff of air that reeked of rotten flesh. It held out its hand, and Franklin tried to hand back the piece of leather, but it didn't take it. Just held its hand out, waiting.

It wanted blood.

Franklin put his hand in his pocket, got a good grip on the syringe there. The dose of morphine he'd prepared for Diana. Then he nodded, nice and slow. "Sure, we can get you some blood. Any preference as to species?"

The thing's smile died then, and Franklin knew real fear. If it had been looking through him earlier, now it was staring down into the very depths of his soul.

"Why don't you come to the back with us?" Hobbs asked, and Franklin wanted to yell at her to run away, run and hide, hope this thing didn't turn its basilisk glare her way. Then he got a look at her face, saw that it was deathly pale, and saw what she was holding almost hidden in the folds of her scrubs.

A scalpel.

"Yeah, come on back," he said, fighting against the shake in his voice. "You can pick out what blood you want." The thing looked back and forth between them, and Franklin gestured for it to walk ahead of him. He managed a watery smile himself, and it seemed that did the trick, because it turned, walked toward Hobbs.

Franklin knew he'd have one shot. He slid the syringe out as steadily as he could, then came up behind the thing and jabbed it into its neck. It howled, an unearthly sound, and Franklin grabbed it, pinned its arms to its body. For a moment he didn't think he'd be able to hold on - it bucked and shook, and it was so strong - but then the morphine hit the bloodstream. Franklin took one hand and grabbed its bone crest, pulled the thing's head back, and exposed its throat.

"Lillian, now!" There was only an instant of hesitation, and then Hobbs came forward with her scalpel, sliced. Franklin felt a gush of blood run down the creature, cover his hand. A spray of it hit Hobbs in the face, and she cried out, recoiled. Franklin kept holding onto the thing until it finally became limp. He put it on the floor, and watched it die. Just before the end, those eyes focused on him, on his own eyes, and he saw a brief glimpse of something then. He thought it looked like gratitude, and relief. She whispered a word, and then her eyes dimmed.

Franklin sat down, right on the floor. Ignored the doctors, nurses, and patients who came over to see what was going on. The word the woman had said repeated over and over again in his head, and he wondered what it meant. He was afraid he'd learn before this was all over.

"Carnifex."


	3. Campfire Tales

Campfire Tales

_8 February 2260_

_1230 hours_

There was an open hatch just in front of them. Something had broken the bottom of the door. Sheridan and Delenn stood there, just looking at it. They had made it halfway to C and C, passing closed door after closed door, walking through empty corridors, and now this. Something had opened this door by force.

"I'm just going to peek inside," Sheridan whispered, unable to keep from feeling embarrassed by how afraid he felt. He was ten years old again, trying to work up the nerve to walk down the hallway at night, past the open door of the bathroom, knowing that there was something waiting for him inside. He forced himself to duck under the half-open door, and he only needed one look to confirm his suspicions. He stepped back out.

"Another dead body." Then Delenn shocked him by brushing past him to enter. He followed her in, baffled. She circled the body slowly, then pulled the sheet off the nearby bed and covered it. "Delenn, we need to get going."

"I will tell you what is on this station. Here, let's move away from the door."

"You want to talk here?"

"It's already been here, John. It will not return." She sat down on the floor in the corner, the couch between her and the door. To see her, you'd have to walk at least a couple paces into the room. Sheridan joined her, finding it hard to rest. There was so much adrenaline in his system at this point, his muscles felt jangly, on fire.

"So you know what did this?"

"I think so," Delenn said, her voice low, turning her napkin ring over and over in her hands. "I have only heard stories, the kind one tells late at night, in the hopes of frightening others."

"Minbari tell scary stories," Sheridan said, amused. He wondered if she'd intentionally put it that way in the hopes of relieving the tension some. He wouldn't put it past her.

"The stories say that long ago, when the First Ones came into being, there was a race that struggled to maintain the same levels of technology as the others. They were consumed with jealousy, with wrath. They could have made compromises, shared the resources of their system, bartered, traded - but they refused. They attacked the other races, not in open war, but secretly, quietly. They learned how to make the attacked blame each other. They learned how to slip in to any ship, any station, any planet, and take what they needed without anyone ever knowing.

"But as the centuries and then millennia wore away, they no longer cared for military secrets, or weapons, or money. They began to infiltrate and terrorize and kill for no reason at all. The First Ones finally came to recognize the monster in their midst, and banished them. By then, however, they did not care. They had no use for the light of suns, for the feel of a planet beneath their feet. All they wanted was death and ruin.

"Now they live in the dead spaces between the stars. We call them Carnifex. Butchers. Valen named them; there was no word in any of our tongues before him that could describe them. To the Centauri, they are The Bloody Ones. They strike without warning, leaving a ship filled with dead bodies as the only evidence they ever ventured forth. This is their only purpose now - to kill, to torture, to mutilate. To bathe in blood. And now they are here, on this station."

Silence. Sheridan stared at his hands, and felt the weight of responsibility crush him. Two hundred and fifty thousand people on Babylon 5, locked up, waiting to be killed. He had to do something, but he couldn't even begin to guess what his next move would be. He had nothing but a PPG and a pocket knife. How was he going to win back the station?

Footsteps, in the distance.

Sheridan stood, feeling something strong gather inside him. One of them was coming, and he would kill it before it killed anyone else. He could do this. He would do this. He slipped toward the door, listened. The footsteps came from down the corridor, around the turn. Coming this way.

He felt Delenn's hand on his back, distantly. He shook his head, knowing she would see the movement silhouetted against the emergency lights. Sheridan slipped out, silent, and moved to the opposite wall. Put his back to it, moved toward the intersection. It was coming, and he would wait, and when it turned the corner he would shoot it dead.

It stopped. Just before turning the corner. He couldn't hear a thing, but he could sense a presence, no more than two meters away. Sheridan felt a single drop of sweat make its way down the side of his face. Hyper aware, arms tense in front of him, PPG steady as a rock. He inched forward - was it trying to draw him out? He could move toward the opposite wall, get the angle he needed, but he would lose his cover. Every thought, every consideration of strategy, flashed through his mind in fractions of seconds.

He would move on the count of three. One. Two.

It came around the corner, and even as Sheridan's finger began to squeeze the trigger, he saw that it was Ivanova, her own PPG aimed right at him, her eyes wide. They both froze for a second, and then he had her crushed in a bear hug, never so happy to see someone in his life.

"You okay? Susan, you okay?" She was nodding hard, her hands bunched in his jacket. He pulled her with him back to the open room.

xxx

_1300 hours_

Lennier had prepared first. He had changed into simpler garments - freer, less restrictive of movement. He had eaten a light meal, drinking plenty of water. He cleared his quarters of obstructions. He emptied his bladder and his bowels. He found his denn'bok, placed it nearby as he arranged himself on the floor, in the corner of the room.

After some time spent in the dark, the communication system dead, the hatch inoperative, Lennier came to the conclusion that it was likely that other systems would fail soon. It would be best to conserve his air. So he prepared, and then he entered a deep meditative state. He let his heart rate fall, his breathing slow. There was nothing he could do but wait, and if the worst came to pass, the amount of air in his quarters would last a reasonably long time.

Before his thoughts turned inward, Lennier hoped that Delenn was safe.

Hours ticked by, and he did not move. He melted into the darkness of the room.

Lennier had not set any alarm to rouse himself, and had not given himself a prompt to come immediately out of the meditative state should any external stimulus present itself. So when the door to his quarters was wrenched open, Lennier remained where he was, only very slowly cycling back up to full consciousness.

A Carnifex entered.

xxx

_1315 hours_

It was hard to believe now, hands bound behind her back, marched by some kind of demon toward Brown Sector, but this morning had been the best morning of her life. It had earned that distinction by following the best night of her life. Julius had finally proposed. It would be at least a year, probably two, before they'd be able to actually go through with the ceremony, but just knowing that they were promised to each other had been enough for Laetitia.

She already had a husband back on Mars, of course, picked out for her by the Corps because of their genetic compatibility. A child she had never seen, hadn't named, didn't care about. She knew Julius would prefer a real ceremony (she didn't even have to read his mind to know that; he was definitely the more emotional of the two), but a spiritual joining on Proxima Three would be good enough. More than Laetitia could have hoped for.

They'd been on their way to grab something to eat when the alarm sounded. They ran, but it seemed every door they came to had just been closed. By the time they made it back to their own quarters they couldn't get in. Julius kept trying to reassure her that the hull breach was nowhere close, that they should just find a quiet corner and wait, try to stay out of the crew's way. They found their corner, but it wasn't quiet; Laetitia's mind could hear drums pounding in dark places; nasty, slithering sounds up and down the walls. She was only a P3, nothing, really, but she felt like she was on Dust - everything was open to her, everything was pouring into her, she couldn't stop it. When the killings started, it was all she could do to not rip at her own face, and Julius had had to hold her tight.

She had known the thing was coming long before it ever reached them, and she had tried to run, pulling Julius along with her, but she was already so exhausted. The monster hadn't been alone; there was a Minbari with him, as cruel as any nightmare she'd had when she'd been a child during the war. The Minbari had entered her mind, held her fast, and made her watch as the monster had torn Julius to shreds.

They had reached their destination. The Minbari pushed her into a room. There was another teep in there; their minds said 'hello' as soon as they saw each other, even though she didn't recognize the Centauri man and was certainly in no mood to chat.

"What's going on?" Laetitia asked again, as she had asked and asked the entire walk here. She expected nothing but silence, but this time the Minbari answered her. The coldness in his voice was dreadful to hear, and Laetitia thought for the first time that day about how she might kill herself. It would not be the last.

"All in good time." He closed the door as he left them, and Laetitia dug her nails into her palms. She would not cry. She was afraid that if she started, she would never stop.

"Are you hurt?" the Centauri asked, and Laetitia went over and sat by him on the floor. She looked around the room - some kind of monitoring station for the water reclamation system. The chairs had been removed, and the desks, but the monitors were still in the wall, and they were all still active. The Centauri touched her mind, a gentle brush, the equivalent of a hand on her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. My fiancé is dead."

"So is my daughter."

"I'm Laetitia."

"Corfo."

Corfo put his arm around her, and they held hands. Normally this would be too much for a telepath, that much physical contact with another, but it was good. It made them strong. They built three sets of walls around themselves, nice and high, and filled the space in the middle with beautiful things - flowers and birds and songs. They walked through their garden, and waited.

xxx

_1330 hours_

Ivanova was kneeling beside the body, the sheet pulled back. She shook her head, covered him back up, and joined Sheridan and Delenn in the corner.

"I knew him. Station maintenance. His name was Jay; he was a nice guy. Very prompt." Sheridan slung an arm around Ivanova's shoulders, the other arm around Delenn's waist. He rested his head back against the wall, and gave his mind a few moments of rest from the endless churning of options and plans that had been running through it non-stop. Just thirty seconds off, holding his girls, thinking about nothing. He'd already filled Ivanova in on what Delenn had told him about the things in control of the station; he pitied the first one of them she ran into after seeing the look on her face. "So you two weren't trapped behind a hatch?" Ivanova asked, draining a glass of water.

"No, we were," Delenn answered. "I climbed inside the wall, and the Captain directed me to cut certain wires and put them together."

"Hooked the power into the mag seal," Sheridan said, wondering if they could get up into the ductwork, just crawl all the way down to Grey Sector. "Is that what you did?"

A pause. "Yes. That is exactly what I did." Sheridan felt a smile on his face, hugged her close for a second.

"Come on. What did you do?"

"What you did. That's what I did."

"Ivanova..."

She sighed then. "I didn't have enough light to see much more than the outlines of things. So I crawled all the way back to the hatch, then up to the mechanism at the top of the door. It took...a really long time to get the cover off. I dropped the screwdriver once."

"Hey, at least you had a screwdriver."

"Then I just had to find the manual mag release. Up on my tiptoes, hands over my head, doing everything by feel. I have to admit, the only thing that got me through it was the mental image of you trying to shove that big Midwestern corn-fed body of yours in between the walls." Sheridan chuckled, and then he knew it was time to go.

"We could get up into the ducts," he said, standing, giving Delenn a hand up. "Crawl down to Grey Sector."

"That's at least a mile."

"You have a better idea?"

"I was heading down to security," Ivanova said, checking Jay's closet. "I wanted to find Garibaldi."

"We stopped by security on our way here. Tapped some morse code out on the door, nothing. He must have been out on his feet when the balloon went up."

"Damn. Hope he made it in someplace safe. Oh, here's a flashlight. That'll be good to have. I wonder why Jay didn't get it out."

"He probably forgot," Delenn said. "I imagine many people are quite frightened, too frightened to think clearly."

"Well, I don't intend to keep it that way," Sheridan said. "I want to get up to Blue Eight. Let's go." The three of them walked out, back into the dark.

xxx

_1345 hours_

They'd taken the Minbari woman's body into the isolab, and Franklin performed as much of an autopsy as he could with the instruments he had available. He hadn't learned much - she was malnourished, covered with bruises, cuts, most of which looked old and faded. Internally everything looked pretty much normal. Whatever had been controlling her - and Franklin was sure that there had been some outside influence, that at the last moment of her life he had finally seen the real her - it had left no visible trace that he could see.

Diana had died half an hour before, mercifully slipping into unconsciousness at the end. They were out of Narn plasma; most of it was down in Medlab Three in Green Sector. Franklin was afraid that they'd lose Na'Thar soon, as well.

There were enough ambulatory patients in good enough health that they'd been able to post at least two by every entrance, though; five by the emergency bulkhead that had dropped in the main corridor to seal off all of Medlab One. If someone else slipped through, Franklin hoped they'd be able to keep the door open, get back into contact with the rest of the station.

"What battery-powered machines do we have that aren't being used right now?" he asked Hobbs, coming back from her rounds.

"They're all being used."

"Any not vitally necessary?"

"What are you wanting to do?"

"Daisy chain the batteries to the computer. I want to look something up." Hobbs looked at him then, as though he were crazy. "She said a word, just before she died. 'Carnifex.' I've never heard of it before.

"It's Latin. It means 'executioner,' 'butcher.' That's what they called Pompey the Great." Now Franklin was even more confused. Why would a Minbari have said something in Latin just before she died? Most Minbari struggled with English. Hobbs laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Dr. Franklin, we have enough to worry about right now. We need to concentrate on keeping what patients we have alive.

She was right. But Franklin had the feeling that ignorance about what was going on out there was the worst possible thing right now. "I know. Still, next time you go around, look and see if there's anything we can unhook and use, as long as its removal won't put anyone in immediate risk." She wasn't happy about it, but she nodded.

Executioner. At least one of them on this station, and it had somehow gotten access to their systems, locked everyone up. And it wanted blood. Franklin crept back to his office, slipped a stim from his desk drawer into his pocket. He wasn't going to use it. He just wanted to know it was there. Just in case.

xxx

_1400 hours_

Blue Eight. Just as deserted as Blue Seven, Six and Five. From here a duct went straight across the station to Grey Eight, where the main power grid was housed. Ivanova was unscrewing a vent, Sheridan and Delenn on either side, watching the corridors coming and going.

"One more," Ivanova whispered, and Sheridan hated being out in the open, felt completely exposed. He had never thought he would look forward to crawling around in some air ducts, but he was practically itching to get in. They'd be much faster just walking down, but he didn't think they'd make it. The Carnifex (_Carnifexes? Carnifexi? He'd have to ask Delenn some time_.) wouldn't want anyone to have the opportunity to wrest control of the station back, so he was sure the open routes would be well-guarded.

"We're in," Ivanova said, and climbed inside. Sheridan gestured for Delenn to go in next. She unsnapped the top of her dress, and then she was reaching right down the front of it, stowing her napkin ring down in her cleavage. Sheridan felt heat rise to his face, and looked at the floor.

"You were married, correct?" she asked, snapping her dress back up, and he nodded, confused. "Then it's reasonably certain you've seen a woman's breast before." And with that, she climbed into the wall, leaving him nonplussed. He took up the rear, pulling the vent back up into the hole; they had to leave it unscrewed, but as long as no one examined it too closely there should be no sign they'd entered here. He followed Delenn into the darkness. It wasn't as tight in here as he'd feared; there was barely enough room to hunch over and crab walk, though that would be hell on his back after awhile. It wouldn't be long before they were crawling. He felt bad for Delenn, trying to move in that dress of hers.

Then they were on their way. It was pitch black again, only hints of light as they passed vents on their way; Ivanova wanted to save the flashlight till they needed it. Sheridan tried to keep track of distance, counting a meter every five steps, figuring his pace wasn't as long as it usually was. No sound but their breathing, the metal of the duct creaking occasionally. He wished they could talk to each other, keep their minds on something else, keep time from melting into something insubstantial and untethered, but he wasn't sure how far the sound would travel, if they'd be heard in the corridors. It wasn't worth the risk.

He lost count of his steps. Wondered what Delenn was thinking about. He was thirsty. He banged his head on a low-hanging pipe, bit back a curse. Then Sheridan practically crawled over Delenn, who had stopped.

"What's going on?"

"Shhh!" Ivanova, just ahead of Delenn. Sheridan shushed. Listened. There was something moving in the duct a level above them, about fifty meters ahead. The sound was barely there, just the slightest indication, almost subliminal, of movement. Before Sheridan could say a thing, Ivanova was knocking on the top of the duct. Morse code.

"H-E-L-L-O"

They waited, utter silence. Then, more of that shuffling sound, a bit louder, coming their way. Knocks.

"I-D" Sheridan could sense Ivanova looking back his way even if he couldn't see it. He knocked on the duct himself.

"O-L-Y-M-P-I-A-N-S R-U-L-E"

Whoever was above them was hurrying back their way. Then almost above them, quick knocks.

"J-O-H-N I-S T-H-A-T Y-O-U"

Sheridan grinned in the dark. He didn't know where he'd been, if he'd been caught somewhere, and if so, how he'd gotten out, but he'd had the exact same idea that they'd had. Garibaldi was also on his way to Grey Sector.

xxx

_1315 hours_

The Carnifex extended its senses, listening for blood, feeling for blood, smelling for blood. It had feasted once already, a crunchy thing with thick skin. Now it would feast again, and after, it would continue to feast, until the station ran red. It had waited a long time for this, and would not leave until he had sucked the place dry.

The room was empty. It had come across an empty room earlier, the door already opened. It did not understand. The puppets had sealed the doors. No, this room was not empty. There was something in the corner. The Carnifex approached, claws clicking. Something, yes. A bony one. But it was dead. It did not hear the bony one's breathing. Cold, blood not pumping strong and thick. It did not move, even as the Carnifex stood directly above it.

It did not look as though it had been feasted upon. The Carnifex thought about sucking the marrow from its bones, but there was no reason to waste time here. There were many other treasures aboard. No end to warm, hot blood. The Carnifex would move on, and leave this dead, cold bony one for another.

xxx

_1500 hours_

They'd only liberated three machines; the rest couldn't be unhooked without risking the patients using them. A Brakiri in the infirmary named Leshke had volunteered to string the batteries together, and had done so with astonishing efficiency. Franklin had invited her to take a look at the Babcom; she was over there now, poking around in the wires underneath.

Franklin booted the computer up, running it in text-only mode. He didn't know how long the battery power would last. He looked up 'Carnifex." Like Hobbs had said - an entry on Pompey the Great.

"Cross-reference with Minbari." Nothing. "Look up 'executioner," cross-reference with 'Minbari.'" Nothing. "Look up 'butcher,' cross-reference with 'Minbari.'" A single entry came up, only three lines. Franklin read them half a dozen times before he grabbed pen and paper to copy them down, then read them half a dozen times more.

_The Minbari tell a fable about a dark race of butchers who live in the dead of space. They sneak into civilized places to hunt and kill. A cautionary story for children._

xxx

_1600 hours_

Neither Garibaldi nor Sheridan's team had given any thought as to how they were going to get out of the ducts. Ivanova was still sitting behind the vent that stood between them and Grey Sector, trying to figure out how to unscrew it from the inside. Garibaldi was tapping from above.

"S-E-E A-N-Y-O-N-E E-L-S-E"

"N-O"

"W-H-A-T I-S I-T"

"S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G B-A-D"

"Fuck!" Ivanova whispered, and there was just enough light coming through the slats in the vent that Sheridan could see her sit back in disgust. "I don't know how we're going to get out. I can't get my wrist to bend enough. We might have to backtrack."

"No way. We've already been two hours getting here; I do not want to lose another two hours going back."

"Captain, if you've got a better idea, please, I'm all ears."

"Commander." Delenn's voice. Ivanova moved aside, and Delenn ran her hands over the inside of the access panel.

"What are you doing?" Sheridan asked, half expecting her to do a spell or something, the way she was touching the metal, looking at it intently.

"Both of you, please move back." Then she was pulling her napkin ring out of her dress, putting it right next to the corner. A beat. Wham! There was a flash of something, and where Delenn had been holding a small cylinder of metal before, now she had a seven foot long pike in her hands. One end buried itself in the opposite side of the duct. The other punched the corner of the access panel out, ripped it clean from the wall. Delenn seemed not to move at all, and it was the napkin ring again. She repositioned it on the bottom corner, turned it into a pike again.

"See if you can push it out now." Sheridan gave her the once-over as he moved close, then pushed out the freed side of the access panel. He was able to bend it enough for the three of them to squeeze out.

"I'm afraid that if there's anything close by, it heard that," Ivanova said, her PPG out, covering one end of the corridor.

"I think you're right." Sheridan helped Delenn out, still looking at her. "You mean to tell me that _that's_ what you've been carrying around this whole time?"

"It is a denn'bok. A Minbari fighting pike." Sheridan just shook his head. She never failed to amaze him. Then he leaned just into the duct, knocking one last time.

"S-T-A-Y P-U-T W-E-R-E C-O-M-I-N-G T-O G-E-T Y-O-U"


	4. Into the Fire

Into the Fire

_1600 hours_

By the time Lennier had abandoned the meditative state and returned to full consciousness, his quarters were deserted, the hatch still open. He found it hard to piece together what had happened, a confused swirl of impressions and sense memories. A sickening reek still lingered in the air, and Lennier was dismayed by the strong feeling of urgency that gripped him. He felt it was imperative to get out of his quarters, get out and do something.

He didn't know what, though.

He decided that if nothing else, he would at least check on Delenn. Lennier took up his denn'bok, tested to make sure it was in proper working order, and departed.

xxx

_1700 hours_

They had climbed up through the manhole covers to Grey Nine, retrieved Garibaldi, and then made their way back down to Grey Six. Sheridan had planned to turn the lights back on, but decided that it was more important to restore station communications first.

On Grey Seven, they found a pile of maintenance personnel who had probably assembled to respond to the alleged hull breach. Nearly twenty bodies, ravaged beyond recognition.

"I don't understand, Delenn," Sheridan said, unable to look away from the carnage.

"It is not possible to understand. You might as well ask them to understand our art, music, culture."

"Let's move. Now." Ivanova already had the next manhole cover open, and they began to descend. He'd seen three PPGs among the bodies, looking as though they'd been discarded. No flash burns along the walls that he could see. How had twenty men and women been so thoroughly surprised and attacked, without even the opportunity to defend themselves? What were they walking into? Sheridan gathered the weapons, then down into the manhole. He felt like he was climbing down into hell.

Grey Six. The corridors the same as every other, the sameness starting to wear at his mind. It seemed like they were running in circles. Ivanova took point, Garibaldi behind, then Delenn, and Sheridan took up the rear. They moved as quietly as possible, only a few hundred meters before they should reach the secondary communications relay. As long as the power supply hadn't been disconnected, he thought they had a good chance of getting at least the links working again. Then he could find out how many friendlies he had out there, try to coordinate some kind of response.

Ivanova stopped at a bend, fist raised. They slowly dropped, up against the wall, and she poked her head around the corner. Turned back, whispered into Garibaldi's ear, who whispered to Delenn, who finally relayed the message to Sheridan.

"A human woman and a Drazi male, side by side. Just in front of the hatch. Staring straight forward, like they're statues. Ten meters of open ground, no cover."

"Weapons?" The question made its way back down the line. Ivanova peeked around again, and down the answer came.

"Not that I can see." Well, at least the odds were in their favor. Sheridan rose, PPG charged and ready. He had to admit, he kind of wanted to see Delenn put her pike into action. Garibaldi was looking a question at him, and Sheridan shrugged: no plan, just run around the corner and start shooting.

As they made the turn, Sheridan was convinced for a long beat that the two figures guarding the communications relay were in fact statues; they didn't move, didn't seem to notice the four people coming toward them at all. Then the two were running their way, rage twisting their features. Ivanova had been wrong; they did have weapons. Hands held out in front of them, teeth bared. Even after they'd both been shot several times, they came, and the woman barreled into Ivanova, knocking her down. Ivanova struggled, her hands on the human's shoulders, trying to keep those clicking teeth away from her throat.

The Drazi made his way toward Sheridan and Garibaldi, an awful keening noise that went on and on coming out of his mouth. Sheridan shot one last time, and then it was on him, his PPG flying out of his hands. He tried to roll as he went down, protect his throat. He could feel claws tearing at the back of his neck, felt skin give way and hot blood run toward his face. Then the weight was gone, and Sheridan hadn't even realized that he wasn't breathing until he sucked in a big lungful of air. He rolled over, scrambling around for his PPG, looking for Ivanova.

Delenn came up past him, denn'bok swinging in a perfect arc, and slammed the human on top of Ivanova right in the temple, knocking her back. Her figure twitched, and Sheridan could see her skull had been cracked open. Garibaldi had a foot on the throat of the Drazi, and shot him between the eyes at point blank range.

The whole thing had taken less than twenty seconds.

Delenn was helping him up, pulling back his collar to examine what felt like huge gashes covering his neck. "You're all right," she said, fingers brushing against his cheek. "Just a few shallow cuts." He gripped her shoulder briefly, and then followed the other two into the secondary relay room.

xxx

_1700 hours_

The Carnifex had come without warning, wrenching the emergency bulkhead up in a matter of seconds. The five so-called guards had fled immediately, running into Medlab, one of them screaming in such complete and utter terror that Franklin felt his blood run cold. With numb fingers he grabbed a scalpel and a bone saw and ran out into the main corridor, hoping it was another person seemingly under some kind of psychic hold even as he knew it was not.

What he saw was something out of a nightmare. Seven feet tall, hunched over, rippling muscles pocked by rotten skin and bulbous tumors. No eyes, the face almost entirely given to a monstrous mouth filled with three rows of razor sharp fangs. Franklin came to a dead stop, staring at the thing at the end of the corridor. It stood, black tongue lolling out of that abyss of a mouth, head turning this way and that. Then it was coming for him, and Franklin saw the shreds of flesh still hanging from its claws.

The scalpel and bone saw clattered to the floor. He couldn't move. He was paralyzed, from the top of his head down to his feet. He felt like he was being swallowed up by something immensely vast. Black wings fluttered at the edges of his vision. The thing lumbered toward him, slowly, almost majestic. And with one dim corner of his mind, Franklin realized his fingers had stolen down into his pocket, the scant weight of the stim in the palm of his hand.

With shaking fingers, he pulled the stim out of his pocket. The Carnifex was close, its tongue flicking out like a snake's. Franklin managed to raise the stim syringe in starts and stops, the shake getting worse and worse; it felt like he was trying to lift his hand against an enormous weight. He could feel the last of his willpower sapping away, his eyes drawn to that gaping maw, black blood ringing each fang. With one final, desperate burst of energy, Franklin stuck the syringe into the side of his own neck.

The cocktail of stimulants immediately flooded into his bloodstream. His vision cleared, became perfect, better than perfect; he could hear the Carnifex's breathing, whistling in and out; he could smell the hundred different aromas, all of them revolting, that surrounded the creature. All in the first second of absolute clarity. The fog lifted, the weight gone. Franklin turned and ran back into Medlab One.

"Leshke! Connect the battery chain to the defibrillator!" The scalpel and bone saw abandoned, Franklin frantically looked around, but no weapons presented themselves. The Carnifex was coming in after him, and he saw the few people who had remained scatter. Only the Brakiri remained, hooking up wires with apparent calm.

Franklin turned. The Carnifex stood just inside the doors, and Franklin could sense a malevolent energy coiling inside the thing, could feel that it was preparing to strike.

"What do you want?" he asked, not knowing where the question came from. The Carnifex stopped, and again Franklin felt that alien intelligence upon him, but this time he was able to shunt it aside, deflect the probing threads whispering calm and quiet and peace before they were able to sink into his mind. "Do you want blood? Because I can give you blood."

It was definitely listening now, taking one tentative step forward. Franklin felt he could leap forward, throttle the thing to death with his bare hands, the same invincible power he always felt just after dosing himself, but he made himself smile, made himself put his hands out, non-threatening, palms forward.

"We have many different kinds of blood here. Many different races. All the blood you could ever want." Leshke crept up behind him, the defibrillator paddles in her hands. Franklin took them, the hum of the machine sounding insanely loud in his ears. He approached the Carnifex, keeping his voice as measured and smooth as possible.

"And flesh. We have flesh here. Organs. Rich, meaty organs. And bodies in the morgue, still warm. I'll make you up a banquet, spread a table, if you want. Anything you want." Franklin closed the last few feet between them, and even as he brought his hands forward he recoiled from the overpowering stench, had to turn his face away from those glittering teeth.

He could feel the thing trying to get inside his mind again, and suddenly the weight was all around him, and all he wanted was to drop everything and surrender. It would be so easy. All he had to do was let go of the paddles, turn his head to the side, and present his throat. There would be only a moment of pain, inconsequential, really, and then all his troubles would be gone. He could have anything he wanted, anything at all. His offering had been appreciated, but it wasn't enough. He had to give himself, as well.

Franklin was caught, felt like his mind was being torn in two. Just as he felt his fingers' grip on the paddles loosen, felt the honey-warm dark pressing against him once again, he remembered the look in the Minbari woman's eyes. That look of relief, of simple thankfulness. He pressed a defib paddle on either side of the creature's head, and shouted a single word as loudly as he could, shouted it to himself, feeling all the universe condense down into this single second.

"_Now!_"

He sent the charge, holding the buttons down, keeping them down, locking his arms against the backlash of the shock. The Carnifex howled, screamed. Franklin could smell burned flesh, acrid smoke. The thing shook, jolts running through that massive, deformed body. Then it dropped, still twitching.

"Leshke, I think you ran more charge into the defibrillator than we needed," Franklin said, and then he was laughing, still holding the paddles. The laughter kept going, like it was coming from someplace outside of him. Distantly, Franklin felt Leshke come up to him, grab onto his arms and force them down. She pulled back his fingers and yanked the paddles away. She brought his head down to her shoulder, rubbing his back, and Franklin didn't even know that he was sobbing.

xxx

_1700 hours_

Delenn's quarters had been empty, her hatch open, hanging loosely from the top. Lennier tried to force down the panic that had welled up inside him, but after he came across this third torn and ruined body, he found it more and more difficult.

What if something had found her? Whatever it was that had entered the station, that had broken into his quarters. What if she had been taken, had been...but he couldn't finish the thought, would not allow himself to even consider the possibility. Her door hadn't been broken - she had left of her own volition. Lennier wondered for half a second why she had not come to his quarters, had not at least knocked on the door, called out to let him know she was all right, let him tell her the same was true for him; but that was a cruel thought. He had no idea in what circumstances she had found herself. He hoped that she was safe, but felt no comfort.

There was no hull breach; of that he was reasonably certain. Which meant that the alarm had been falsely given, that the lights and communications had been intentionally taken offline. The hatches had been sealed, and then something had broken into his quarters - come inside, but done nothing. Why had he been spared? Lennier did not know, and found his ignorance troubling. A story from his childhood occurred to him then, a mean tale he had heard when just barely old enough to attend temple on his own. Dark creatures, sallying forth to main and destroy. Lennier savagely banished the thought from his mind. This was no time for fables.

It would do no good to wander the station. That's all he had been doing; aimless, in shock, he now realized. He headed back to his quarters, meaning to gather what supplies he had, whatever could be turned to the purpose he now sought. He didn't know how much time he needed, how much time was left to him, but while he could, Lennier would free as many as he could.

xxx

_1715 hours_

Sheridan helped Garibaldi, who was patching cables and wires, trying to get the comm relay back online. Mostly, Sheridan just pointed the flashlight in the right place. He glanced over at Ivanova and Delenn, guarding the doors. He wished there were more than just the four of them.

"So where were you, when the alarm went off?" he asked, wanting to reach up and itch his neck. Delenn had washed the wounds thoroughly with a bottle of water they'd found on a desk, a half-eaten breakfast cold on top of it. Sheridan had been struck with the knowledge that someone had been eating that meal, starting their day off with the expectation it would be like any other, and then the unthinkable had happened. Where was that person now? Dead on Grey Seven? Stuck behind a hatch somewhere, in the dark, alone? Delenn must have seen something on his face, and had reassured him that the cuts were shallow, not at all threatening. Remembering that just made him think about the wounds again. Now it was like he could feel something in there, irritating the skin.

"In security," Garibaldi replied, snipping a wire. "Nothing was coming up on the sensors, and I was still cycling through the cams when the lights and power cut out."

"We stopped by security, on our way to C and C. Tapped out a howdy-do on the door. You weren't there."

"I must have already been on my way." It looked like Garibaldi was almost done. He was checking the connections; smooth, methodical.

"But your door was closed."

"After I hooked up the Babcom to the emergency battery and still couldn't get any calls out, I patched the battery power over to the door release there in the instrument panel. Popped the lock, raised the door, closed it behind me. What did you do?"

Sheridan wanted to smack himself. Why hadn't he thought of that? "That's what I did. What you did. That's what I did."

"That so?"

"Yep. Now, Ivanova..." But that was as far as he got, because the women were rejoining them, moving fast but quietly.

"Something coming our way," Ivanova whispered, and then the four of them hurried to the corner, hid under the big desk there. Sheridan hoped the shadows would conceal them; they'd stashed the bodies of the guards in a storage closet down the hall, but there were still flash burns on the walls, blood pools on the floor. Whoever - or whatever - was coming would know that something was up.

The instant the Carnifex entered, Sheridan felt a gibbering panic rise up inside him, something atavistic and horrible. It felt like there was a great thorn in his brain, jabbing into all the most secret parts of his mind, and he wanted to reach up and start tearing at his face, get it out, he had to get it out. The cloying smell of blood and death filled the room; thick, awful. Delenn was pressed up against him, and she reached over and squeezed his hand. He had just enough time to wonder at her presence of mind, that she could think about comforting someone else at this moment, and then she was rising gracefully to her feet, coming out around the desk.

Most of Sheridan wanted to scream at her to get back down, wanted to jump up and grab her and drag her under the desk, but there was a tiny part of him, down deep, the part that was screaming even now, that rejoiced that she had shown herself. Now the thing would take her, and he would be safe.

"You don't belong here. You should leave," Delenn said, her clear voice ringing like a bell. Sheridan told himself to stand, told himself to grab his PPG and start shooting, told himself to do anything, but he could not force himself to move. _God, Delenn_. That thing was going to kill her, and he couldn't even fucking move.

The Carnifex answered her with a dreadful sound, a shuddering growl that grew and grew, and Sheridan realized that it was laughing. Then there was a whispering sound, the sound he had heard as she had extended her denn'bok in the ducts, and the growl turned into a pained screech. The volume of the wail continued to climb, and Sheridan clapped his hands over his ears. Then there was a crash, a sound of something incredibly heavy slamming into the floor.

Silence, for a beat, and Sheridan felt his senses returning, felt the panic recede. Then he heard another sound, and he couldn't place it at first. He stood, and first he saw the Carnifex on the ground, Delenn's pike still sticking out of its head. Then he saw Delenn, and realized the sounds were her desperate gasps for breath. There was a note of hysteria in them, and when he saw her start shaking, he ran for her. Grabbed her, crushed his mouth against hers. He wanted to throw her down on the floor and fuck her senseless; he wanted to shake her as hard as he could. He settled for wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

"What did you do? What did you do, Delenn? What were you thinking?" She was still shaking in his arms, her hands grabbing at him.

"It was going to take our minds," she gasped out. "It would have turned us into slaves, like the two in the hall. It would have eaten us. I had to kill it quickly. I had to kill it!" He kissed her again, kissed her forehead, kissed the tears off her cheeks. Buried his face in her neck, breathed her in, thinking he'd never smelled anything sweeter in his life; the memory of shampoo in her hair, the musky scent of her sweat.

Ivanova's hands on his back, and she was saying something, urgency in her voice, but Sheridan shrugged her off. Delenn was grabbing the hair on the back of his head; she'd opened up the wounds on his neck again, and he could feel a trickle of blood under his collar. He couldn't get her close enough, no matter how hard he squeezed.

Then Garibaldi put his mouth right next to Sheridan's ear, yelling. "The links are online, John! John, you have to let her go." He finally did, feeling shaky himself as the wave of adrenaline and emotion died down. He kept one arm around her waist, raised his link to his mouth. Took a deep breath, got himself under control.

"Attention. This is Captain John Sheridan. There has been no hull breach, repeat, no hull breach. Babylon 5 has been boarded by a hostile party. If you are trapped inside quarters, patch the emergency power in your Babcom unit to the hatch controls in the instrument panel. Rally to emergency points alpha. Bring all the weapons you can."

xxx

_1745 hours_

Zack Allan was inside his closet, hiding under a blanket. If anyone had ever told him such an event would one day come about, he would have laughed in their face, told the story about the time he was six and his dad had pretended to be a ghost, and Zack had just grabbed his Little League bat and busted him one over the head. But after he had heard someone slaughtered in the hallway just outside his quarters, the most horrendous screams imaginable, worse than any shocker vid...Zack felt no shame whatsoever. He didn't think his closet would be much protection, the blanket even less, but it still felt like there was something out there, and he didn't want to be scrambling for cover if it decided to come for him.

Then his link came on, the abrupt hum jolting through the silence. The Captain's voice came out, and Zack was so glad to hear him that he nearly wept. A quick explanation of how to get out - it figured. The fact that Sheridan had worked that out and Zack hadn't was probably as good an explanation as any as to why one was a captain and running a space station, and the other worked security. They couldn't all be heroes. Rally to emergency points alpha. For Zack, that meant the main corridor, Green One. Zack counted to three and threw off the blanket, screwed his eyes shut and remembered that Little League bat - he'd hit a triple with it, the next year, sending home the tying run and they'd ended up winning that game, and how his dad had cheered - and then he opened the closet door.

He had a screwdriver somewhere, he thought. It would take him awhile to find it, longer to figure out how to get his doors open, but then he'd grab his weapons and hightail it down to Green One.

Zack was going to help win this station back.

xxx

_1830 hours_

"I won't go in blind. First thing first, we set up recon patrols. We need to know how many we're dealing with, where they're located. We're going to have to rely on sneak attacks, blitzes; we can't give those things enough time to get in our heads, so we have to know exactly where we're headed before we go in." They were back in the ducts, between two vents, up on Grey Twelve.

After the links had come back online, Sheridan had repeated his message twice while Garibaldi and Ivanova dragged desks and equipment in front of the comm relay, hoping it would provide at least some impediment should the enemy come back and try to sabotage their work. Then they ran down to the storage room they'd stowed the dead guards in, found a welder, and welded the doors shut.

"We have to move, we have to move!" Ivanova kept shouting, and they finally abandoned Grey Six, up into the manholes, up the ladders, climbing, climbing. Each floor they had to open the manhole cover blind, hope that section of the corridor was empty, that there weren't more of those mindless guards waiting nearby. Or worse.

Now they were holed up again. Reports had started coming in, glad voices on the link: Corwin was in C and C, and thought he had almost hooked back up with Stellarcom; Zack had just gotten out of his quarters, was on his way down to Green Sector; Menendez and fifteen pilots had already made their way out of the ready room and were on their way to the small arms locker on Blue Five when Sheridan's call had gone through. And Franklin had killed one of those things as well, was even now performing an autopsy, trying to learn what their weaknesses were, how they could best hit them.

Sheridan had briefly thought about calling for comm silence; he didn't know if the enemy was listening in, if they would try to intercept, but it was too good to hear everyone's voices, and he thought that the psychological advantage of everyone being back in contact with the team was more important than any tactical disadvantage. He'd thought briefly, once, about whose voices he hadn't heard call in yet, wondered how many he had lost, but he pushed the thought aside; he couldn't worry about it now.

"So where do you suggest we go first?" Garibaldi asked.

"We could try going back down to Grey Eight, get the lights back on."

"Not worth the risk," Ivanova immediately said, looking through what she'd pilfered from the storage room: the welder, some kind of heavy chemical cleaner, a blow torch. Seven PPGs between the three of them, five pocket knives, and Delenn's denn'bok. It wasn't a bad arsenal, but Sheridan would give anything for a grenade or two. "We should get out of Grey Sector. I don't think it's a coincidence one of them came for us after we'd killed its little pets. If they're not already, these decks'll be swarming with the things soon enough."

"Delenn? What do you think?" He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her; now he had one resting on her back, between her shoulder blades. After Sheridan had got the message out on the link, she had retrieved her pike, washed the end off, and had seemed to retreat inside herself a little, watching the others rush around, trying to seal things up and move. He hoped she was okay, but now was not the time to have a talk.

"I don't know, John." She sounded tired, wore out. He rubbed her back a little, wished he could do something more. Then she said, "We could continue to seek out their servants. Kill them, hope their masters come to investigate."

"Guerilla warfare," Garibaldi murmured, and Sheridan nodded in the dark. He'd give that order to Menendez and the pilots; maybe the Carnifex would catch on eventually, but they could try to whittle them down in the meantime.

"Susan's right; we need to move. I don't think there's anything in Green or Blue Sectors for us to do right now. Let's get down to Brown Sector. We can try to access the secondary power grid there. And they must have gone there first, to set the auto warning up if nothing else. If that's where they went first, that's probably where their forces are still concentrated."

A beat in the silence, as they gathered their strength. Then it was down the ducts again, crawling the length of Babylon 5.

xxx

_2000 hours_

Lennier had worked out a good system, and now he had two others helping him. They took their access cards, wrapped them in some thin human metal. Jammed them into the key card slots on the call boxes, then used a rod to pry off the call buttons. It was a matter of some luck, finding just the right angle for the rod, slipping it down into the call box mechanism and poking around, but once the connection was made - _click. _The hatch would unseal, and a grateful Minbari or Drazi or Gaim would come out, and join the others with Mr. Allan on Green One.

Lennier would have to remember to inform Mr. Garibaldi of this technique after all of this had been resolved. It definitely posed a threat to station security.

He came around a turn, sighed a little inside. It wasn't that he had been putting off opening this particular set of rooms; he just hadn't made opening them a priority. But now it was time, and Lennier set to work as efficiently as he had for the last several standard hours. Less than five minutes later..._click_.

Lennier waited patiently, and it wasn't long at all before he heard those familiar tones, yelling out from inside the Ambassador's quarters. And despite himself, Lennier found himself smiling, found that he was actually glad to hear him.

"Finally! I have certainly been waiting long enough. I had a meeting today, you know; a meeting with a beautiful woman. I suppose you think seeing you will make up for it, hmm? Vir, hurry! I can't wait for you forever!"


	5. Fighting Back

Fighting Back

_8 February 2260_

_2200 hours_

Zack had been joined by Raoul from security and Denise from station maintenance, and together the three of them were trying to coordinate two hundred and sixty-six aliens from Green Sector, more arriving in a steady stream all the time. Lennier had set up Ambassador Delenn's quarters and his own just down the hall as makeshift clinics, as the emergency bulkheads sealing off Medlab Three was impregnable as far as they could tell. There were some bumps and bruises from people running into things and falling down in the dark, one probably broken arm, a couple cases of shock, one heart attack, and quite a few hypochondriacs who seemed to think the whole 'station boarded by some kind of enemy who was ripping people to shreds' thing was specifically designed to upset their lives.

Zack had sorta thought that Ambassador Mollari would fall into the final category, but instead, he seemed to be...enjoying himself. He was marching to and fro, shouting out orders, happy to do what Zack and Raoul told him to do as long as he could berate everyone while he did it.

"Weapons, you're supposed to bring weapons! Go back to your quarters right this instant and find something. Surely you have knives, at least. Mr. Allan, you wouldn't happen to have an extra PPG you could lend me?"

"Sorry, Ambassador," Zack answered, helping Denise move the last market stall up against the wall, ushering in seven or eight new arrivals. "You're going to have to make do with your sword there." Zack had expected Vir to be a bigger help, but the Centauri aide looked even more frightened and twitchy than normal, drifting along in Londo's wake, twisting his hands together.

"Londo, I think we'd be safer back in your quarters," Zack heard Vir say for the third or fourth time. Each time, he said it louder and louder, and this time, the cluster of Centauri nearby stopped what they were doing to turn and listen. That was enough. Zack had done his best to try and keep everyone calm, and had been pleasantly surprised by how smoothly things had gone so far (he suspected that most everyone was just relieved to have something to do again, after so many hours cooped up in the dark); he did not need someone getting everyone all riled up. Zack took Vir none too gently by the elbow and steered him toward one of the few remaining clear areas.

"Look, Vir," he said, trying to sound nice and reasonable, "I understand that today has been a hell of a day, and you don't know what's going on. And that can be scary. But the Captain needs numbers, and we're gonna do what we can for him."

"That's what you don't understand, Mr. Allan. I do know what's going on." His voice was getting louder again, and now it wasn't just the group of Centauri looking their way, it was the Drazi and Brakiri, too. "This has happened before, to a Centauri outpost almost a century ago. It was just a small moon, only a few hundred families. After the nearest colony hadn't heard from them in over a month, a scout ship was sent out. The families were all still there, but they were dead. Slaughtered. Their logs described a depressurization alarm. Everyone had taken refuge in the farm tent. And that's where they were all found, almost five hundred people, all dead."

Londo was coming their way now, looking intently at his aide. "Vir, there's never been any proof that happened. Everyone knows that the Ellyrian outpost was destroyed by an asteroid impact. The rest...just stories, meant to frighten children." Everyone was drifting their way, members from nearly all the alien races on B5, listening carefully.

"But it's not just the Ellyrian outpost, Londo. A transport was lost in hyperspace thirty years ago, but not before the crew managed to relay an emergency broadcast to the beacon: something had boarded their ship, nearly all the passengers had been killed."

"Something similar happened to one of our trade ships two hundred years ago. It was found drifting in space, not far from its rendezvous." The Drazi who was speaking looked like he expected some monster to come out of the walls at any moment. "Almost every Drazi had been murdered, torn apart. There was one survivor, hiding in a secret compartment in the hold, but he had gone mad."

Excited murmurs, and then everyone was telling their stories: a Brakiri war ship on patrol on the edge of their territory disappeared, only to turn up decades later, crewed by ravaged skeletons; a Gaim ship that had also been lost in hyperspace, a mysterious last message; a Hyach scientific station that the authorities had destroyed after finding the research teams dead. The whole thing had the atmosphere of one of those late-night conversations when everyone started telling stories about how rough their jobs were, or their problems with significant others, or the stupid shit they'd gotten into as kids; that heady feeling as you realized that you weren't alone, that everyone else had the same stories to tell.

It seemed like it was going to get out of hand soon enough anyway, but then Vir grabbed Londo by the arms. "Londo, don't you see? The Bloody Ones are here." It was like there had been a perfectly timed beat of silence just as Vir said it, and his words carried through the crowd. One Centauri woman let out a gaspy little scream; the rest of the Centauri were talking loudly now, and a few were making for the exits.

"Stop! Everybody just stop." But no one was listening to Zack. A young Minbari shouted out, "The Carnifex!" A Drazi was tugging at Zack's uniform, trying to get his attention. "We call them _rakizi_, the destroyers. The destroyers, they're here." Raoul was running his way, shouting something, but Zack couldn't hear him. He could feel the panic about to explode, and in a few minutes, if he didn't do something, he'd have a mob on his hands.

He shot his PPG into the ceiling. Once. Twice. Everyone fell quiet, a still, sullen silence that Zack didn't like. But he kept his voice nice and calm, lowered his weapon, and turned to get a look at everyone as he spoke.

"I want everyone to listen very carefully. It doesn't matter what's on this station. Bloody ones, destroyers, Carni-whatevers. It doesn't matter. Humans have a lot of scary stories too; vampires, werewolves, zombies. Maybe they're on the station, too. It doesn't matter. It won't do any good to just hide and hope it goes away. None of your stories mentioned anything other than the odd, insane survivor. If we just scatter and hide, then we're just doing what they want. They wanted us all alone, in our quarters, waiting. I for one am not going to do what they want. I'm not just going to sit and wait for some monster to come along and kill me. I'm going to stand and fight. This is my station, and no one's going to take it away from me. Maybe we were all afraid of scary stories when we were kids, but we're not kids anymore. Well, except for you kids over there, but if I remember anything from when I was little, I would have jumped at the chance to go hunt some werewolves or some ghosts."

Zack paused, looking around. He thought his words were getting through, but it was hard to tell. There were a lot of scared faces still around, a lot of people who looked like they were just waiting for the chance to cut and run.

"Look, I'm not saying you can't be scared. I was scared earlier, too. I was hiding in my closet, okay? But now we have a chance to get out there and do something. We have a chance to defend ourselves. So let's grab our weapons, let's calm down, let's split up into teams, and when word comes from the Captain, let's get out there and kick those Bloody Ones the fuck off our station!"

Silence for a beat. The teeter-totter was balanced right in the middle. Then Londo was clapping furiously, coming up to grab Zack's shoulder with one hand, hoist his sword in the air. "Then I will be the first to enlist!" And then like dominoes, everyone was cheering, knives and bats and guns and plenty of things that weren't supposed to be on the station up in the air, and even Vir had a fist raised. Zack had a mob on his hands, all right, but they were his mob.

xxx

_2300 hours_

Franklin came out of the isolab, and would have given just about anything if he could only have fifteen minutes in the hottest shower imaginable. He felt filthy, even though he'd worn a full contamination suit during the autopsy of the slain Carnifex. He'd found plenty of things during his examination, all of them troubling, none of them immediately helpful. He'd report everything to Sheridan - their links were still online, which he found more worrying than anything else - and hope he could make sense of it. The stims had worn off awhile ago, and Franklin felt groggy, tired, irritable.

Leshke was still fiddling around with the Babcom. She'd yanked the emergency power supply clean out of the wall, had done the same with every unit in Medlab One, and would have ducked under the emergency bulkhead to try and find other open rooms to poach if Franklin hadn't stopped her. She had shown a few other patients how to hook them together, and now they had a string of batteries all lined up, still hooked to the defibrillator; Franklin didn't think that would do any good if another Carnifex showed up, though. They had telepathic abilities, that much was obvious, and he figured that whatever trick they devised would only work the one time. Still, it was the best they had.

"Dr. Franklin. Stephen." It was Hobbs, coming his way. "Why don't you try to get a few hours rest? Everyone's stable and taken care of for now."

"I'm fine." He was thinking about the Carnifex's desire for blood. The way it had sent one of its minions up here asking for it, the way it had paused and considered when Franklin had brought it up.

"You're no good to anyone if you're half-asleep," she went on, and Franklin felt the familiar frustration start to build up. He hated being nagged, especially when he had work to do.

"I said I'm fine!" She left then, and he had half a second to feel bad for snapping at her, but then he was back to thinking about blood. He would have to do weeks of tests to learn how the Carnifex's digestive system worked, if they actually consumed the blood as a source of nutrition or not. But the specifics didn't matter. What mattered was the blood.

Franklin went to the pharmacy, locking the doors back up behind him. He started pulling bottles down, filling his pockets.

xxx

_9 February 2260_

_0030 hours_

Ivanova was sick to death of crawling around inside stuff. First between the bulkheads in her quarters, then up and down the ducts, miles and miles, and now they were crawling around in Downbelow, working their way up to auxiliary power in Brown Sector from, well, below.

"That's great, Menendez. Keep at it." Sheridan cut the connection on his link. The team of pilots had just offed their third big monster, their fourth creepy zombie slave. Only one casualty for seven kills. Ivanova was jealous. She wanted to be out there killing some shit, not crawling through what she was pretty sure was a pak'ma'ra feeding trough.

"All right," Garibaldi said, on point for the time being. They stopped behind him, and Ivanova begrudged the moment of rest. She wanted to keep going, get up there, as quick as they could. "We're coming up on the water reclamation system. Big open room, but lots of cover. Let's split into two pairs, one moves forward while the other covers, back and forth, and just see-saw across."

"Okay," she said, moving forward to sit next to Garibaldi. That Sheridan and Delenn would pair up together was a given. She still didn't know if they were together-together or if this was one of those 'today is very stressful and we keep almost getting killed' things, but as long as Sheridan stayed on task she wasn't going to say a word. She'd been worried about him, those first two minutes after Delenn had killed the Carnifex, and he'd practically mauled her, but he seemed mostly back to normal now.

None of them had talked about that experience, as though they just wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. Most of the haunted look had left Delenn's eyes, but she was still sometimes a fraction of a second to slow to answer, sometimes had a look like she was someplace else; Garibaldi was quieter than usual; Sheridan more jumpy.

Ivanova herself was pissed. She was beyond pissed, she was livid. She was beyond livid, she was nearly fucking apoplectic. That thing had gotten inside her mind. She had felt it rooting around the edges, trying to sneak in, and she had done her best to block it out even as she had been about to piss herself with terror. Just before Delenn had killed it _something_ had gotten in, some shred, some hint of something alien and evil.

Ivanova felt like there was something still in there.

"Delenn, you should probably have a PPG if you're going to be covering us." Garibaldi passed back one of the spares, and Delenn turned it over in her hands, that look on her face again, like she wasn't understanding anything she was seeing. Sheridan brushed her hair back from her face, looking at Delenn with such naked tenderness that Ivanova had to glance away for a moment, feeling like she was intruding.

"Are you going to be able to use it?" she asked, not wanting to get hit by friendly fire.

"Of course. One aims and shoots, correct? That shouldn't be a problem." Now that sounded more like the Delenn she knew, and Ivanova took a deep breath, knowing they were about to get going again. She reached over and squeezed Garibaldi's bicep for a second, and she saw him barely nod. Then they were up, ducking around piles of crates and under huge pipes, coming to the entrance of the water reclamation system. Enormous tanks in rows, connected with pipes of all sizes; generators still thumping away; scaffolds and equipment standing abandoned and eerie. They scurried behind the nearest tank, then covered around either side as Sheridan and Delenn joined them. Then they went forward, while Garibaldi and Ivanova covered them, waiting till they were behind the next tank until they went forward themselves.

They were making good time till the fifth tank, when Ivanova slipped on a puddle and did something to her ankle. Garibaldi stopped, came back to help her, and the three of them huddled around her.

"It's not broken," she whispered, probing her fingers into the already swelling flesh. But it hurt like a son of a bitch, and it was going to slow them down, and Ivanova felt like smacking herself. Of all the fucking things, she had to slip in a puddle.

"We can pull up for a little bit," Sheridan said. "Let you put it up, just give it a chance to rest."

"No can do, boss." Delenn pulled off one of her long stockings, and used it to tightly wrap the ankle, give it some extra stability. Ivanova wondered how many first aid stations they had passed, with actual bandages, and pain pills, and other wonderful, magical things they were sure to need at some point. She thought about how they had never heard back from the three sergeants who were supposed to run some recon around the fringes of Brown Sector. She remembered the Carnifex, the blood all over it. That ghost in her mind. "I'll be fine. I had to walk around on the broken foot last year; this is nothing compared to that. Let's get a move on."

Ivanova went straight for the next tank, Garibaldi hurrying to keep up. She knew she didn't have anything to prove, but she also felt like the others, Sheridan especially, were just looking for an excuse to take a break, and she was not going to be the excuse. Ivanova fully intended to sleep in her own bed tomorrow night, which meant they needed to get this finished. They were going to get the lights back on, they were going to open the doors, they were going to meet up with everyone, they were going to find all the murderous sons of bitches that had crashed the party, and if Ivanova had to kill each and every one of them herself, then she would.

It was a monotonous, slow journey across the room. There were hardly any emergency lights in here, and most of what light there was bounced off the water tanks and the scaffolds to make ominous shadows. And as much as Ivanova wanted to convince herself otherwise, she was moving slower and slower, favoring her ankle. It had started to stiffen up, and each step was making it worse.

"Susan, let's take a break," Garibaldi said, and it wasn't a suggestion this time. They waited for Delenn and Sheridan to join them.

"Water, water everywhere," she said, and now that she was aware her mouth was dry it was all she could think about. She heard Sheridan's little grunt, and then Garibaldi put his arm around her. He had a nice shoulder to rest her head on, and Ivanova quit fighting it. She was going to rest. Just for a minute, though.

"How are you doing?" Ivanova almost answered before she realized that Sheridan was asking Delenn. And what was she, a dirty sock? Delenn murmured something in response, and then Ivanova closed her eyes and let herself doze a bit.

Garibaldi had her up on her feet sooner than she would have liked, which is just why she hadn't wanted to stop and take a break. Now she just wanted to find a nice, dark corner and curl up and sleep. It took a few minutes to wake herself back up, and then they were back to ducking around the tanks, covering the darkness, trying to see into shadows and hear anything over the gurgling of the water through the pipes and the roar of the generators. It was a little easier going, though; Garibaldi had taken the knapsack she'd had slung over her shoulders, with the supplies from the Grey Sector storage room. He must have done it while she'd been half-asleep. She was appreciative and annoyed at the same time. Felt a little like her old self again.

Nearly across the enormous room, Ivanova was struck with the sensation that they were not alone anymore. She hadn't heard anything, still didn't see anything, but all the shadows were suddenly imbued with menace. And then Ivanova felt herself overcome with a suffocating sense of dread, of imminent danger. It was so powerful and so sudden that she was afraid for a second that she would throw up. She grabbed Garibaldi, who had started around the next to last tank, and pulled him back. She didn't think she was going to be able to get breath enough to speak, and Garibaldi finally put one hand on the back of her neck and pulled her head close to his.

"Susan, what is it?"

"We have to go back. We have to get out of here."

"Is it your ankle?" Ivanova didn't even feel her ankle anymore; that pain had been totally knocked out by the warning signs going off in her mind. She was shaking her head wildly, and Garibaldi grabbed onto both her shoulders.

"We have to go. We have to go now." She pulled away from him, looked around the tank toward Sheridan and Delenn, one tank ahead of them, both looking back their way. Ivanova gestured for them to come back, and that's when they came for all of them.

xxx

_0130 hours_

Franklin had prepared blood and tissue samples from the Carnifex corpse, then set up an experiment that reminded him of early days in med school - injecting the tissues with different chemicals, medications, and solutions, then studying the results under the microscope hooked up to Leshke's battery chain. He did the same thing with the blood samples. Most of the samples betrayed no reaction whatsoever. One did something very interesting.

Now Franklin was almost done with the injections of everyone in Medlab One. To the patients in the infirmary, it was as simple as injecting the solution into the IVs. Most of the other patients were told they were receiving a vitamin cocktail, which wasn't too far off the mark. He told the nurses and technicians the injection was an antibiotic he'd prepared after exposure to the Carnifex, afraid there might have been contamination; one, a young man who Franklin honestly couldn't remember seeing before, was a little hesitant, but Franklin charmed him in a few minutes.

But Hobbs, he knew, would see through any story he came up with, so he just told her the truth.

"2000 milligrams of Vitamin C. It dissolves Carnifex flesh." Hobbs just looked at him then, holding the syringe in her hand. Franklin became convinced that she was going to throw it in his face, ask for him to step down for the duration of the crisis, even lock him up. Then she rolled up her sleeve, stuck the syringe in her arm, and injected herself.

"Am I the last one?" she asked. He knew what she was really asking.

"I didn't want to take the risk that you'd object."

"I don't know why you don't trust me, Stephen. I'm not just talking about today, either." Franklin walked away from her then, made his rounds even though technically he'd just done so. She followed him, and the rush he'd just felt from doing something even marginally productive melted away into the same old anger.

"Now is not the time, Dr. Hobbs."

"If we're going to get through this, we're going to have to work together. I could have helped you do your tests, distribute the injections. You do not have to carry all of this on your shoulders alone." The sad thing was, he agreed with her. There was no reason why he kept her out of the loop, why he insisted on doing everything on his own, why he fought against his better instincts. And the fact that he knew all of that just made him angrier, made him lash out even more, made him pointedly close the doors to the infirmary behind himself, shutting her out.

xxx

_0200 hours_

There were ten of them. Nine were mindless slaves - two humans, three Narn, a Drazi, and three Centauri. The tenth was Minbari, and he was no slave. Ivanova saw Delenn keep looking at him, could tell she wanted to ask questions, and it was all Ivanova could do to keep from screaming at her to stay quiet. The sense of dread she'd been afflicted with intensified the moment she laid her eyes on the Minbari, and she was sure that speaking to him was the worst possible thing they could do.

Ivanova had gotten one shot off, the others none at all. The slaves were on them immediately, not biting and tearing, but subduing. Most of their weapons were taken away, put aside; Ivanova was very aware of the pocket knife still in her shoe, and was pretty sure that Delenn's denn'bok was still tucked away inside her dress. Their links had been removed, crushed. The Minbari circled them, saying nothing, only looking. There was something wrong with him. Ivanova couldn't put her finger on it - he seemed like the Minbari she saw every single day. He seemed to take particular interest in her, looking at her even while standing in front of Sheridan, or Garibaldi. Ivanova made herself meet his eyes; she wouldn't let him know how afraid she was.

"Little soldiers," the Minbari finally said. "How far you've come." Delenn spit something out then, in her own language, and Ivanova had never seen her so angry, didn't know Delenn was capable of being that angry. The Minbari only laughed. The nine slaves made some awful noise, like choking screams, and Ivanova realized with a shiver that they were laughing, too.

"Are you working with them?" Sheridan asked, his fists clenching at his side. "With those monsters? Why would you do that?"

"I have no interest in explaining myself to you, little soldier." And around them he went again, a slow circle, eyes moving up and down their bodies. But especially Ivanova's.

"Listen, buddy," Garibaldi said, and Ivanova envied how smooth his voice was, how calm he seemed. "I don't know if this is a for-hire situation here or what, but you are in way over your head. Your bosses? Not that nice."

The Minbari stepped close to Ivanova, and she was afraid he was going to touch her. She could feel her skin crawl. He answered Garibaldi, but his eyes never left hers.

"And what makes you think they are the ones in charge?"

Ivanova told herself it was a mistake, told herself that it might very well be the last thing she'd ever do - and then, like so often happened, that very fact convinced her that it was the best possible thing she could do. If it was her last act, then by God, it would be a good one.

She spit in the Minbari's face.

Ivanova hoped that he would recoil, that he would shout out, even that he would strike her. But he just stood there, face still impassive, the barest hint of a smile. The Minbari raised one hand, almost an afterthought. One of the slaves came to him, that same horrible smile frozen on its face, and licked the spit off his face. Then the Minbari took his raised hand, caressed the side of Ivanova's face. She tried to pull away and found that she could not.

"Join me."

It was a struggle to get the words past her lips, but she found that well of anger inside herself and drank deep. "Fuck you, bonehead." She didn't think Delenn would mind the racial epithet, not now. And now the Minbari did recoil a bit, shaking his head. Ivanova felt the oppressive dread lessen a little bit, felt her ability to cordon off her mind seem to strengthen in turn, and not even knowing what she was doing, decided to press her advantage. "Furthermore, you bald piece of shit, if it's the last thing I do, I will make sure that I'm the one who ends your miserable, sorry excuse for a life. I will rip that stupid fucking piece of bone right off your head. I will cut off your fingers and shove them down your throat. I will keep one of your ugly monster fucks alive so that you can watch as I feed the rest of you to it, piece by piece. And before you die, I will be the last thing that you ever see, and you will see me smile."

The Minbari collapsed onto the ground, clutching his head. One ridiculous thought flashed through Ivanova's head - _what a pussy_ - and then all hell broke loose. Like they were on the exact same wavelength, Garibaldi and Sheridan dove for the pile of weapons. Delenn already had her denn'bok out and extended, and started cutting a swathe through the slaves. Ivanova just knelt, slipped her pocket knife out of her shoe, and went for the Minbari.

The blade wasn't very long, but it was sharp. She was preparing for one slice, right across his throat, and just before she made it he managed to get a hand up in time. The knife slid through the palm of his hand with hardly any resistance, and Ivanova watched the fingers fall limp, useless. She sliced right back the opposite way, but he turned his head, and she laid his face open to his jaw bone.

The sound of PPG bursts all around her, the wordless screams of the zombie slaves. Ivanova changed her grip on the knife, then started stabbing down into the Minbari's face. She got his eye, his cheek, and then he pushed her off, amazingly strong. She skidded along the slick floor, and for a second she thought she'd lost her knife, but it was caught somehow in the folds of her jacket. She pulled it out, and she knew she'd have one more shot while he gained his feet. If she could just get up and get right back in the fight, he wouldn't be ready. She'd have him.

She stood, and then her ankle gave out underneath her.

Endless seconds while she got herself back up on her knees, then she looked all around, but couldn't see the Minbari. She saw Garibaldi crumpled at the bottom of one of the tanks, and hoped he was only unconscious. Sheridan was beating one of the slave's heads in with the butt of his PPG. And the two other slaves left standing were dragging Delenn to the doors, the Minbari trailing behind.

"John, don't let them take me!" Delenn screamed, and Ivanova struggled to her feet, armed with nothing but a pocket knife. She watched Sheridan run for Delenn, and the last human slave came at him, knocking him back. The Minbari went forward, opened the doors, the Drazi still pulling Delenn with him, an arm against her throat.

Ivanova made it to the pile of weapons. Only a single PPG was left; Garibaldi and Sheridan must have grabbed the others, or they had been scattered. Ivanova felt tired, faint. Raising the PPG was a struggle. Delenn screamed again, and it might have been John's name, but it might not have. Ivanova aimed - better that Delenn die here, quickly, mercifully. One clean shot, that's all she needed, but she couldn't seem to get her vision to clear. Two Delenns swam in front of her, and Ivanova found herself strangely aware that her shirt was wet.

"Susan, no! No!" Ivanova fired at the same exact second that Sheridan tackled her, and then the doors were slamming shut, and the world went dark.


	6. Always Darkest

Always Darkest

_9 February 2260_

_0230 hours_

Zack couldn't get a hold of the Captain on the link anymore. Or Ivanova, or Garibaldi. They'd been checking in every hour or two, one of the three of them, but he hadn't heard from them in almost three hours. And now he couldn't get a call through to any of them. The links were still operative - he'd just talked to Menendez, who claimed that Blue Sector was clear - so Zack found himself pretty sure that something had happened to the four of them.

He was afraid they'd been lost.

There was no way he was going to tell that to the crowd in Green One, though. All the work he'd done the last three or four hours - cajoling, soothing, promising, vaguely threatening - would be shot to hell. There'd be panic, of that he had no doubt. Zack and Raoul and Denise had come up with a good plan on their own, although they'd been waiting to hear from the Captain, get his input, before they put anything into action; they were coordinating with Menendez and another group of mostly maintenance workers who had just come back from running recon on Grey Sector. Zack didn't like the idea of being in charge, and knew that the aliens in Green One would like it even less.

So he lied to them.

"All right, listen up!" he yelled, coming down the stairs. "I just got off the line with the Captain." A glance from Raoul at that, who wasn't happy about lying, but who was willing to let it go. "We're going to wait about half an hour for one of the other teams to get into position, and then we're going in. We're going to march right down to Grey Sector and we're going to get this station back online." Cheers and shouts, and Zack let himself think for a minute, just a minute, that they might actually pull this thing off.

xxx

_0230 hours_

At first, Garibaldi couldn't figure out where his legs had went. He was looking at them, he was smacking one of them; nothing. He also had a bad taste in his mouth. What had he eaten last? But before he could try to remember, Garibaldi became aware of the fact that he was on the floor. And what was he lying next to?

Then it all came back, in a jolt, and just as the sharp, achy feeling of pins and needles started moving through his legs, Garibaldi tried to get to his feet, find his PPG, and look around all at the same time. He ended up banging his head into the water tank he'd been thrown against, falling down again.

"John! Susan!" There were those creepy things all around, that Minbari who had given him the bugger-boos, where was his fucking gun, shit! On his feet, and the first thing Garibaldi was struck by were the bodies all around. Those slave things, lying dead here and there. And then he saw Sheridan and Ivanova, and he just knew that Ivanova was dead. She was lying on her back, her jacket unzipped, another wadded up in a ball on her stomach; the white shirt under it was no longer white, but stained a red already going brown. Sheridan's back was to him, sitting next to Ivanova on the floor, one hand loosely resting on top of his jacket pressed on top of what must have been a serious wound.

Garibaldi made his shaky way over. Ivanova's face was white, almost ashen. He felt his stomach drop to the vicinity of his ankles, and then her eyes opened to half-mast, looking vaguely his way. He dropped to his knees beside Sheridan.

"Susan. What happened?"

He expected a whisper, something soft and choked. A sickroom voice. Her voice was as strong as ever, but Garibaldi closed his eyes at her words, and the dead tone she delivered them in. "They took Delenn." He looked over at Sheridan. The Captain was just looking at his own hand, resting on top of the jacket he'd used to staunch the bleeding. There was blood on his face - Garibaldi guessed that it was Susan's. He put a hand over on Sheridan's shoulder, but he might as well have tried to comfort a statue.

Garibaldi moved Sheridan's hand aside, gingerly pulled back the jacket. "I don't think it got anything important," Ivanova said, eyes closed again. "Stuck myself with my own knife." He wondered how much blood she'd lost. He couldn't see very well, but it looked like she'd cut herself on the side, well away from the important stuff. Still, if she were bleeding internally, they'd have no way of knowing.

"I was waiting for you to wake up." Sheridan was getting to his feet, not looking at either of them. He made his way over to what had been their confiscated weapons pile, scattered when the two of them had went for the weapons after Ivanova had put the whammy on the Minbari leader. Garibaldi watched him go through the knapsack Ivanova had used to carry the supplies she'd grabbed from the storage closet in Grey Sector - the welder, the chemical cleaner, and the blow torch. Sheridan was moving slowly, deliberately - he took the blow torch and went to the big double doors at the end of the reclamation room. Tried to figure out how to turn the torch on.

Garibaldi joined him, feeling stabs of pain in the small of his back and around his sides, which were nothing compared to the pounding in his head. "Let me do that, John."

"Take Ivanova out of here. Get her to Green Sector, to Medlab Three."

"Did they take Delenn through these doors?" Sheridan got the blow torch going, but he was going to end up blinding himself trying to cut through. He didn't answer, just started burning a line. Garibaldi shuffled back to the knapsack, but Ivanova hadn't packed any eye protection. He looked back up, ready to tell Sheridan that he had to stop, but he had his eyes closed, opening them periodically to check his progress and move the torch.

Garibaldi found a PPG with half a charge and two pocket knives. Then he went over to Ivanova, who had managed to sit up. He didn't think she'd be able to walk, but then she insisted on getting to her feet and he had no choice but to help her.

"Susan, take it easy."

"Shut up. Delenn's pike is over there. Get it." He looked over at where she'd waved a limp hand, and saw the silver pike on the ground, both ends covered with blood. He picked it up, surprised by how light it was. "Give it to him." Sheridan, who had started on the second side of the square he was cutting out of the door. If he didn't know any better, Garibaldi would think that he was completely in control - he was moving methodically, smoothly, no tremors or anything like that. But there was something in the hunch of his shoulders that made Garibaldi very worried.

"I told you to get Susan out of here."

"You should have a weapon." Garibaldi held the pike out, and Sheridan glanced at it. Something in his eyes, then, something hard and broken. A beat, and he turned back to his torch. Garibaldi propped the pike up on the wall next to the door, and went back to Ivanova. He grabbed her tight around the waist, holding her on the opposite side from the wound in her stomach; she wrapped an arm around his neck, wincing as she raised it. Garibaldi had to stand right where he was, blink the dizzies out of his head; they were going to be a hell of a team, trying to get back to Green Sector. And no crawling around in ducts, either - they were going to have to walk back, in the open.

Back the way they'd come, no need to hide anymore. Garibaldi turned one last time to see Sheridan start cutting on the third side.

He wondered if he'd ever see him again.

xxx

_0300 hours_

Franklin had been turning the question over and over in his mind. Finally he locked himself into his office, injected himself with some more stims, and grabbed pen and paper. He was just going to have to make a list. See which side won out, nice and objective, and then that's what he would do.

_Pros: Doing something productive. Going on the offensive. Might be best weapon we've got. Give me a chance to get out of Medlab._

_Cons: Dangerous. Might not work. We will almost definitely need all the blood we've got when the crisis is over, and the injured start piling up._

Franklin stared at what he had written, looking for the one thing that would jump out and proclaim itself as the definitive reason to act or not act. He saw it, and when he did, he realized that it wasn't the answer he wanted, deep down.

_We will almost definitely need all the blood we've got when the crisis is over, and the injured start piling up. _He circled it. There was no doubt about it - there were going to be a lot of injured people, some critically, some who would need transfusions if they were going to survive. The station had a sizeable blood supply, but only when considering normal needs; they didn't have anything close to what they needed for a crisis of this scale. Every single unit of blood he took out of Medlab was a unit that someone would need, maybe as their last hope of survival.

And that was the point, really. If anyone on the station was going to survive, every last Carnifex would have to be driven off or killed. The crisis just wouldn't end with a snap of fingers and a wish. Those monsters weren't just going to get bored, decide they'd rather go play a game of poker. Maybe scheduled dockings would start piling up, cargo ships and transports and merchant vessels trying to contact the station and failing; realizing something was wrong; one or two returning home, reporting the news; someone deciding to send out help. Maybe that would happen. But if it did, it could be weeks before help arrived. They would have to save themselves.

Franklin tossed the pen and paper aside, took one minute to center himself, and then he was up and moving. He had a lot to get ready if this was going to work.

xxx

_0315 hours_

Zack led the force of mostly aliens from Green Sector, nearly four hundred strong now, toward Medlab Three. The maintenance team had stopped there after returning from Grey Sector recon, and called in five minutes ago to say that they had started cutting through the emergency bulkhead sealing off Medlab Three. Zack had sent ahead Lennier and about a dozen others; hopefully they'd be ready to get started by the time the rest of them got there. He wanted this to go quickly and orderly, as much as possible. Glancing back at the motley assortment of folk behind him, he wasn't holding his breath.

Final approach. "All right, everyone, listen up!" Zack yelled, glad he had experience in that if nothing else. "I want Drazi and Brakiri over on the left side of the corridor - no injections for you. That's just the way it goes. Anyone else who wants out, to the left. Everyone else, over here on the right. I want two straight lines. Have a sleeve rolled up and ready to go. I've seen the way all of you act when you debark onto the station - none of that now. We need this to go nice and smooth. Any questions?"

No questions, just a brittle nervous expectancy hanging over the crowd. There hadn't been many questions when Zack first told them about the plan, either, after getting off the link with Dr. Franklin; a few Drazi had protested their exclusion, but Vitamin C would make them sick as dogs, just like the Brakiri, and it wasn't worth it. Everyone else seemed to accept it - some with a hint of feral anticipation, others with barely-concealed dread.

They weren't going to Medlab Three itself, but the main corridor just adjacent. They had only needed access, to retrieve syringes, the Vitamin C. There was Lennier up ahead, everything arranged with startling efficiency, tables behind him set up with vials and syringes, the volunteers ready to administer the injections. Zack had tried to pick at least one volunteer from each race, not wanting to deal with xenophobic bullshit right now.

"Mr. Lennier, you find everything okay?"

"Yes. I wanted to thank you again, Mr. Allan, for taking the time earlier to let me know that Ambassador Delenn was well."

"No problem." Zack rolled up his sleeve, and Lennier slid the needle into a vein. "You're pretty good at that. I've had nurses up in Medlab One stick me three times before they got it in." Lennier only smiled, that sorta ambiguous Minbari smile that Zack usually found disquieting but which now he found oddly comforting. A thought occurred to him as Lennier injected the solution in, removed the needle; _I'm glad we're on the same side._

xxx

_0400 hours_

Sheridan walked through Brown Sector, and as far as he knew, he was alone. It felt like he was utterly alone, the only man on the entire station. While earlier this sensation would have scared him, would have reminded him of childhood nightmares, would have made him want to check over his shoulder and hesitate before walking through the intersections of corridors, now he felt very little. A distant ache, just below his sternum, and he wasn't sure if it was grief or just hunger; his thoughts were covered in a dark, sarcastic sheen. He didn't like them. He didn't want to listen to himself at all. So he just shut the whole thing down, let his mind slip into neutral; it was easier that way.

There was no trail to follow. No handy spattering of blood drops, or torn wisps of fabric showing him the way he should go. She could be anywhere. She could be nowhere. So Sheridan just walked, past closed door after closed door; empty halls; silence.

He held her pike. He hadn't been able to figure out how to shrink it down, and she had made it look so easy, just the slightest movement of her hand. He felt better with it extended, anyway. The caked blood on the ends, the few clinging hairs. She'd killed five of them herself before...

There he went, thinking again.

The air recycling systems were up ahead. He didn't think they'd have went there; too loud to hear anyone approaching, a bad place to gather. Sheridan decided to make for the primary alarm. Maybe he could get into the system, make a station-wide announcement. He didn't know what he'd say. Normally he didn't have a problem with the rousing speech thing, but he felt like if he tried to open his mouth now, nothing would come out. But the right message might give the creatures some pause, make them think that they more on their hands to deal with than they'd originally thought. That Minbari, who had strutted around them, commanding his brain dead slaves - Sheridan wanted him to feel fear, wanted him to worry about what was coming for him, just around the corner.

Something up ahead. He felt it before he heard it. That sharp prick of fear in the center of his mind, tearing at him. He tried to turn and run, and found that he was frozen completely still. He couldn't even lift his feet.

There it was. A Carnifex. Eight feet tall, arms as big around as the pipes snaking overhead, claws at least six inches long. Sheridan almost felt relief. There would be pain for a little while, but then it would be over. He realized now that ever since he'd cut through the doors, he hadn't been looking for Delenn. He'd been looking for Delenn's body. Now he was glad that he wouldn't have to face the sight of it. He felt like a coward.

The Carnifex lumbered his way. Sheridan let himself wait for it, quit fighting against the fear. And just like that, the terror was gone, and instead, he felt his mind filled up with promises of relief, of peace, of anything he wanted.

What he wanted was Delenn. But she was gone. And one of these things had taken her, had done God knew what to her. Sheridan remembered her screams as she had been dragged from the room. Rage bubbled up in him, thick and seductive, flames flickering out through his limbs. The Carnifex paused, claws clicking. Sheridan felt all the whispers and threats fall from his mind, and he was aware that he was still holding her fighting pike. The thing was just standing there, its bulk filling the corridor ten meters away.

Sheridan brought up the sharp end of the pike and scraped it over the palm of his hand. Blood welled up. He turned the palm face-out toward the Carnifex, let the blood drip down for a few seconds.

"Here! This is what you want, isn't it? Then come and get it!" The Carnifex seemed torn - it lurched forward two steps, but had turned partly away, angling back the way it had come. Why wasn't it running at him? "Come on!" Sheridan went forward himself, strong, steady steps. Then he ran at it, pike held out in front of him, and as the creature finally seemed to make up its mind and hurtle forward to strike, Sheridan stabbed it straight into the Carnifex's gut.

The flesh there seemed half-rotten, and Sheridan felt it give way with sickening ease. He drew the pike out, a long string of black blood hanging from it. Horrible, diseased lumps of flesh slid out of the wound, which was larger by far than the diameter of the denn'bok. The Carnifex was still coming at him, swiped its claws - the tips of them caught Sheridan across his chest, and each of the four slices instantly burned white-hot. He changed his grip on the pike, brought one end down hard on the top of the creature's head, knocking it down to its knees, which brought its head roughly at the height of his own.

He slammed the denn'bok forward again, into where the Carnifex's eyes would be if it had any. Again that feeling that the meat and skin were hardly anchored to the bone underneath. Those monstrous teeth clicked his way, one of its hands grabbing his arm, claws sinking down into his flesh. With a cry, Sheridan kicked as hard as he could, foot planted in the middle of the Carnifex's chest. The thing loosened its grip enough for Sheridan to yank his arm away, and it fell back some, but not before Sheridan felt his foot sink into the creature almost half an inch. He stumbled back, fell onto his back, the pike dropping from his hands.

Where was it? Sheridan panicked, and saw the Carnifex rise to its full height again. It hissed, black liquid dripping from its fangs, and it came for him. The pike was either on his left or his right, he didn't know which. He'd only have time for one move. The Carnifex began to leap, claws extended, already slick with his own blood.

Sheridan rolled to his right. His left hand reached out blindly, hitting the wall, sliding across the floor; it closed around the denn'bok. He rolled back over onto his back, angling the pike up just as the Carnifex landed on top of him. Claws dragging down the side of his face, those teeth only inches from his throat. The weight of it was instantly suffocating; he felt the breath pushed out of him, and he couldn't expand his chest enough to bring in another.

The Carnifex was dead on top of him. He could see the other end of the pike, sticking out of its back. With the last of his strength, Sheridan pushed enough at one shoulder to be able to wriggle out from underneath its chest, and rest there, its arm still slung over him in a parody of an embrace. Fire every place its claws had struck; blood running down into his eyes. He gulped in air, let his heart slow enough that he no longer feared it would explode. Then he crawled the rest of the way out from under the beast, pulled the denn'bok out from the other side, and continued on his way.

xxx

_0430 hours_

"Great, Zack. Good to hear. We'll be coming your way shortly." Franklin cut the link, turned back to Hobbs. She was injecting the last of the blood bags. "We're good to go."

"They're sure Green Sector is clear, as well?"

"Pretty sure. No reports in almost five hours. And the last two recons to Grey Sector turned up nothing. They're pretty sure they've all fallen back to Brown Sector, which is probably where they've set up their base of operations. That's where we're gonna go." Franklin ran through his checklist again. He couldn't think of anything else they'd need. He looked up at Hobbs. She was anxiously looking around Medlab, twisting her fingers together. "Dr. Hobbs? You all right?"

"Yes. I just..."

"What?"

"Do you think this is a good idea? Going out there?"

"Of course not. Doesn't mean we shouldn't, though. A lot of people are out there right now, throwing themselves into the fire, and we've been locked away up here, relatively safe, all things considered."

"I understand the desire to try and...make a difference. But we're not soldiers, Dr. Franklin. This is our place, right here. This is what we were trained for. To patch up the wounded. To make the dying comfortable. We're supposed to be here when the soldiers come back."

"And if we were fighting a civilized battle against a civilized enemy, I would agree with you." He suddenly saw how tired she was, the lines around her eyes. He wondered how stressful the long day had been for her, worrying about what was going to happen next, the monsters in their midst, and him, stalking about sometimes in the grip of a mania, sometimes full of barely-controlled hostility. Franklin walked over to her, put a hand on her shoulder. "Lillian. If you want to stay here..."

She smiled then, and ten years fell off her face. "I thought you'd be above pulling the oldest trick in the book."

"What do you mean?"

As she stacked the last of the blood units on the cart, she let her voice drop down to a deep register, mocking him. "Oh, Dr. Hobbs, don't worry about anyone thinking you're a coward. Stay here and hide, if you're too afraid to go. No one will think any less of you."

"I didn't say that."

"No, you didn't. I still needed to hear it. Let's go." She started pulling her cart - the diagnostic equipment that usually rested on it stowed against the wall, covered instead with wastebaskets and empty desk drawers filled with plastic bags of blood. A second and a third cart had already been taken out to the main corridor by the handful of patients who were well enough to accompany them. There hadn't been many volunteers. About half the Medlab staff had wanted to come, but Franklin was a pragmatist - they'd still need most of the medical personnel to stay.

He grabbed the satchel that held all their remaining Vitamin C, which wasn't much, took one last look around Medlab, and turned to leave himself. He nearly walked into Leshke, looking at him steadily.

"I will go with you."

"We have enough volunteers. You should stay here." She didn't say anything else, just followed him out into the main corridor anyway. Franklin was too tired to argue with her. He joined Hobbs and the three patients waiting there. Together the six of them pushed the carts under the gaping hole at the bottom of the emergency bulkhead, ducked under themselves, and started making their way toward Brown Sector.

xxx

_0530 hours_

Sheridan had finally sat down for ten minutes and figured out how to shrink the denn'bok down to napkin ring size after he'd gotten too tired to carry it anymore. It had started dragging on the floor despite how hard he tried to keep it straight at his side, and there was still a part of him that wanted to approach quietly.

The primary alarm system was just ahead. No guards out front. Probably didn't figure anyone was dumb enough to just walk up here. Sheridan approached, not bothering with stealth. The door was open, and there was just enough light from the emergency lights in the hallway to see by. It took him longer than he'd expected - his brain felt like it was ticking along half a second behind the rest of his body - but he finally figured out how to get the loudspeaker system engaged, everything ready to broadcast the message he was ready to send out, without even knowing what he was going to say.

"Attention, residents of Babylon 5. This is Captain John Sheridan. I am speaking to you now in the hopes that you will join me in fighting off the enemy still attempting to control this station. There are a few important things we've learned. One, the very large, misshapen aliens, the ones the Minbari call Carnifex, may seem physically intimidating, but they are weaker than they appear. They are susceptible to powerful enough blows; their flesh seems rotten, falling apart. If you can, hit them with all you've got, preferably in teams. Second, all of the enemy aboard - the Carnifex, the mindless ones seemingly under telepathic control, and any other hostile forces - do not deal well with anger. It seems to interfere with their telepathy. So, if you find yourself paralyzed with fear while confronting them, just think about everything that's happened to you today. Think about those you may have lost. And let yourself get really angry." His voice caught then, and whatever else he might have said was gone beyond recall. He lowered his head for a moment, gathered his remaining strength.

"Don't let them win. That's all."

xxx

_0545 hours_

Garibaldi had Susan leaned up against the wall. They listened to Sheridan's voice, echoing through the empty corridor. Garibaldi thought he'd never heard the Captain sound stronger, more steady. He wondered how he had managed to get the message out at all. Despite himself, he thought maybe they still had a chance.

Susan wasn't doing well. The last quarter mile or so had taken them nearly an hour. He tried once to just pick her up and carry her, but his back had spasmed, and he'd nearly fallen right on top of her. So now they just moved nice and slow, one step at a time. He tried to bear as much of her weight as he could, but the angle of his shoulders and hips, down toward her, was starting to kill him. The muscles were starting to knot up, and he was now pretty sure that he'd broken at least a couple ribs when he'd apparently been thrown into the side of the water tank.

"Don't let them win. That's all." The loudspeakers cut out with a whine, and then the silence descended once more. Now it sounded thick, cloying. Garibaldi felt dull despair settle over him once again, now that Sheridan was no longer speaking to him, omniscient and powerful, that commanding voice making him think that someone else would take care of it all.

He leaned back over, arranged Susan's arm over his shoulders, grabbed her around the waist, practically lifted her clean off the floor as they started walking again.

"We make a pretty pair, don't we?" she asked, and Garibaldi tried to tell himself he hadn't heard the faint slur in her speech. Then her head was dipping forward, and he shook her.

"Stay awake, Susan."

"I'm awake." He looked down at her as they passed right under an emergency light. It was hard to tell for sure, but he thought her knife wound had opened up again.

"So, what was your favorite vid when you were a kid?" he asked, keeping his tone as light as possible. At first he thought she was thinking, and then he thought she was taking the question far more seriously than it deserved; then he saw that she'd either fallen asleep, or slipped into unconsciousness.

Garibaldi laid her down, his ribs and back and knees protesting loudly as he tried to do so as gently as possible, which meant he had to kneel down himself. It would have been easier if he could have just dropped her.

He didn't want to peel back her shirt, because he didn't want to start the wound bleeding again any more than it already was. He needed something he could wrap around her middle. Why weren't there any fucking first aid kits on this station? He hadn't seen a one the whole time they'd been walking. Then he remembered Ivanova's ankle. He scooted along the floor down to her feet, wincing at every movement. Delenn's stocking, still wrapped around her twisted ankle. Son of a bitch, there this whole time. Garibaldi unwound it, then scooted back up. He got an arm under her shoulders, lifted her enough that he could wrap the stocking tight around her abdomen. He didn't think he'd be able to finish; his muscles were trembling, his head was pounding worse than the worst hangover he'd ever had, and Susan was dead weight.

Garibaldi finished, then checked her pulse. Thready, weak. He was going to have to carry her. He just didn't know how he'd manage. He couldn't start sitting on his ass like he was now. Spinning his legs around, getting to his knees; Christ, he felt like he was seventy years old. _Arm under her shoulder, arm under her knees; don't lift with the gut, the last thing you need is a hernia. Take a break, make sure you got her. _

Then the fear was on him, all around him, he was swimming in it. He wanted a drink, the urge almost as strong as the fear, it was all he could think about. He looked down the way they'd come, and saw the first Carnifex appear out of the shadows. Garibaldi still thought he might be able to run, Susan's weight be damned, but then the second Carnifex followed, and the third.

Garibaldi did drop Ivanova then, even heard the back of her head thunk loudly against the floor. He could taste the fear, feel it clawing at the backs of his eyes. Then something was speaking to him, not in words, but in images, thoughts, feelings. He could have a drink. He could have as many as he wanted. Lovely, cool amber liquid, burning right down to his gut, warming him up. That good numbness, everything okay, everything nice. No problems at all; no problems that couldn't be solved by a good smoke and a good drink.

Garibaldi thought to look down the corridor again, and the three Carnifex were close, very close. He only had to wait just a little longer. He turned their way, pulled the collar of his jacket down, turned his head to the side. He felt something at his belt, something tugging down there, but it was so far away.

They were almost to him. They were beautiful. Garibaldi closed his eyes.

xxx

_0600 hours_

Sheridan walked. No goal, no plan, no destination in mind. Just walked. He had hoped that another one would come to him, scenting the blood from his wounds like a shark, but he had seen nothing, heard nothing, sensed nothing. At one point he walked under an air vent, cool air blowing over him, and he wondered why he was cold. It was nearly half an hour later that his mind worked through the question, and realized he had taken his jacket off. He couldn't remember why. Had he taken his jacket off? Maybe he hadn't put it on today at all.

There was something up ahead, on the floor. Something dark. He almost walked past it, not caring enough to bother turning his head. At the last second, he did. A pool of blood on the floor, still sticky. There was something else, too.

Sheridan knelt, one little part of his mind knowing what he was looking at, the rest confused, wanting the answer. There were pieces of fabric in the blood. He lifted one of them, looked at it. Torn on one edge, like it had been ripped. Blood soaked. The other pieces were the same. Sheridan held it close to his eyes, but with the blood and the red emergency light, he couldn't make out the color. Why did it seem that the color was important?

Pieces of fabric. Blood. Someone had been torn apart here, eaten whole. He shrugged, started to rise. A glint of something caught his eye. He looked through the fabric again, brought up the biggest piece, almost an entire garment. There was something on it. Something hard and shiny. Sheridan turned it over in his hands, but couldn't figure out how to take it off, so he finally ripped it free. It was small. Three little rocks, on a pin.

The fog lifted. Everything crashed in on him at once. He could smell the blood, the bright, coppery tang of it. Slick all over his fingers. Sheridan fell back, kicked against the floor, pushed himself back wildly until he hit the wall. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the pool of blood. Delenn's blood. The remains of her pretty green dress. Her crystal pin.

Something rough and broken tore its way out of his throat. It echoed up and down the corridor, like a wounded beast running wild. Sheridan put his head between his knees and wept.


	7. Before the Dawn

Before the Dawn

_9 February 2260_

_0600 hours_

Everything was nice and peaceful. Ivanova was lying in a hammock, gently rocking, a fresh breeze cooling the perspiration on her face. She thought about how nice it was that she'd finally picked up some R and R. She'd been working too hard lately.

Then the hammock broke, and she was falling. _Thud_. The back of her head hit the ground hard, sending a shock wave of pain down her spine. Ivanova opened her eyes - she was in Grey Sector. She had been stabbed. She needed to get to Medlab Three. Every pain reminded her of its presence, friendly waves from her head and her back and most especially from her stomach. Ivanova looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was going on.

Garibaldi was on his knees beside her, looking back the way they'd come. His face was still, calm. She watched as he tugged down the collar of his jacket, exposed his throat. Then she felt them, three of them, coming down the corridor their way. She tried to say something - _Garibaldi you idiot do something stop sitting there and do something_ - but she couldn't get the words out. She couldn't move, either, although she didn't know if it was because of the fear or because she was so weak.

She had told herself earlier, when she'd been stuck momentarily between the walls, that she was not going to meet her end in such a way. Those words flashed through her mind again, and she saw Garibaldi's PPG in its holster, just by her side. She'd only have to raise her hand a little bit to get at it. Ivanova tried to lift it up, but just felt her hand shake beside her, flopping around on the floor like a dead fish. She could smell them now, feel the vibration in the floor beneath her as they approached. That alien smoke filling her mind again, seeking out the hidden corners. It didn't belong. _Get out of my mind goddamn it get out get out GET OUT OF MY MIND_. Then her hand was flying up, resistance gone. She grabbed the PPG, jerked it out of the holster, then rolled onto her uninjured side. _Up on one elbow. Headshots. You can do it, Ivanova. What did Delenn say? Just aim and fire._

Her first two shots went wide. The third clipped the Carnifex in front on the shoulder. Then she had him, right above that huge fucking mouth, and he fell like a building coming down. Before he had even hit the ground, Ivanova let four shots fly into the second monster; one in its gut, two in the chest, then the fourth blowing off the side of its head.

The third kept coming, a bellowing roar louder than anything she'd ever heard, louder than a ship lifting off, louder than an engine core; she had to resist the urge to cover her ears. She aimed. It was only a few meters away. She'd have one shot, maybe two. She squeezed the trigger.

The PPG let out a ghostly little flash that died before it even reached the last Carnifex. Ivanova kept pulling the trigger, shooting over and over, but the charge was dead. She couldn't look away from the monster about to crush her, still coming on, claws extending in anticipation.

xxx

_0230 hours_

The former Drazi was marching Delenn through Brown Sector with one of her arms pulled up high behind her back, almost enough to make her worry that it was going to pull it out of the socket, break it. She kept trying to worm her way free, pulling this way and that, digging her feet in and refusing to walk, but the mind-controlled slave was too strong. It dragged her when she did not walk, and its grip was iron strong. She could not break free.

The last thing Delenn had seen before the doors slammed closed was Ivanova aiming a PPG in her direction. Whether she had been aiming for the Drazi or for Delenn herself didn't matter; either shot would have sufficed. The shot had gone off, but it had missed them both. Now they finally stopped; the Drazi threw Delenn down on the ground, stood over her, grinning down. The Minbari who controlled him collapsed against the opposite wall. Ivanova's shot had hit him in the back of his shoulder, and he gingerly examined the wound now. Delenn watched as he then reached up and pulled out the remains of his eye, ichor dripping down his face. There were other wounds - a bloody hole in his cheek, a deep gash across his jaw. One of his hands was not functioning.

Delenn had expected to have to tamp down at least a tiny shred of pity, looking at the wounded member of her own race in front of her, but she felt nothing but anger, disgust. She found that she hoped he was in awful pain, and the fact she even entertained such a thought made her sick.

"You asked me a question earlier," the Minbari said, and his voice was the same as ever. It sent chills down her spine. She rubbed her wrist, the one the Drazi had been gripping; it felt itchy, raw. "You asked me how I could betray my own people, how I could allow other Minbari to be murdered."

"I didn't realize at the time that you are no longer Minbari. You have become something else. Something evil."

"Such contempt in your voice, little one. You are no longer Minbari, either."

"In that you are wrong."

Two more of the Minbari's servants approached then, two humans who were nothing more than walking skeletons. Starving, clear marks of physical abuse all over their bodies. They came with that same idiot grin, glancing Delenn's way with lascivious eyes. One stepped her way, tongue sliding around its lips, and the sudden horror that filled her made her raise her eyes to the Minbari, ready to beg. But the Minbari only sniffed in mild amusement, raised a hand with that languid ease she remembered from before. The human slaves walked up to him, began to attend to his wounds. Black thread sewing the gashes shut; ugly work. Throughout it all, he never took his eyes away from Delenn.

Then he turned his head suddenly, looking down the corridor, back the way they'd come. He looked surprised, and Delenn strained to hear whatever it was he was listening to. She could hear nothing. The hole in his cheek still left open, the Minbari shooed the humans away, and they ran down the corridor ahead of them, the jerky movements of their emaciated limbs difficult to watch.

"He's left," the Minbari said. "Your Captain. The human woman finally died - a knife wound, very tragic. The other man has been dead for some time now. Skull crushed. How unfortunate, really. The four of you worked so hard to get here. So very brave."

"You're lying."

"Why would I need to lie?" Then she felt him, rooting around inside her mind, and Delenn raised her hands to her head, trying to block him out without knowing how, but it was futile. "John. He's come to rescue you before, a brave little soldier. But not this time. You're just one person. There are so many others who are depending on him. He has duties, you know, duties more important than whatever perverted carnal feelings he might have for you."

He laughed at whatever he saw on her face. "Did you think he actually cared for you? Did you think he actually _loved_ you? You're a freak." All of the feelings she'd had after her change - the surprises of her new body, the difficulties in trying to adapt, the angry reactions of her own people, the humans who had taunted her - all of them flooded into her mind in perfect clarity. Delenn found herself moaning, filled with revulsion for what she had become. "Your Sheridan is a noble man. Loyal to his people, his planet. He might occasionally entertain the idea of possessing your body, late at night, during moments of weakness - humans do tend to fetishize the exotic, after all. But no more than that. He isn't coming for you."

A flick of his wrist, and the Drazi had her on her feet again. They followed after the humans, deeper into Brown Sector.

xxx

_0330 hours_

The Drazi had let her go once she stopped struggling. Delenn had finally gotten too tired to try and break free, and even if she had been able to, where would she have gone? Now she walked, the Drazi in front of her, the Minbari behind. She was painfully aware of his presence, just a few paces away. Delenn didn't have the slightest bit of telepathic ability, but she felt something now, something cold and lonely battering itself against the surface of her mind.

So she talked to herself, safely, just inside her head. A prayer to the universe. The Second Recitation of Diligent Hope. Jokes that Mr. Garibaldi and John had told her. The names of everyone she knew. Things Dukhat had said to her, long ago. Things she wanted to say to John, if she ever had the chance.

They had backtracked. They had been down this corridor before. Delenn wondered at the attempt at subterfuge, why the Minbari was leading her up and down Brown Sector, for no apparent reason. Did he think she did not know her way around the station? Was he trying to confuse her? Or perhaps he was trying to beat her down, break her, make her cry out for release. That, Delenn would never do. She had faced the Inquisitor; she had been tested. She had already passed. She would not fail in this, not after that.

They came to a room, and the Drazi unlocked it. Delenn was pushed inside. The door was closed and locked behind her. At first she thought she was alone, but then she saw two others in the corner, huddled together. A human woman, very young, and a Centauri male, perhaps Londo's age. They had their arms around each other; their eyes were closed.

"Hello?" Delenn said, thinking that they looked normal, not scary at all, but she no longer trusted her own instincts. She felt her back hit the door behind her, and she couldn't back up any more. The young woman's eyes opened, focused on Delenn. Then she burst into tears.

Delenn could only think that the young woman was afraid of her, so she put her hands out, shaking her head. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please, do not be afraid." The Centauri man stood, looking weary.

"Laetitia is not afraid of you, and neither am I. My name is Corfo."

"I am Delenn."

"The Minbari Ambassador. Yes, I know."

The young woman - Laetitia - stood then, wiping away her tears. She approached Delenn, sniffling, looking painfully young.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the girl said, anguished. Delenn couldn't help but take her into her arms, hold her gently for a moment. Laetitia started crying again.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, so utterly confused that she couldn't even formulate a guess.

"We saw you coming," Corfo answered, and she followed his gaze to the monitors in the wall. The water reclamation system. The tanks they had taken so long to try and hide behind as they quietly, carefully made their way across the room. "We watched your group, saw the human woman fall, watched you make it halfway across before the Minbari was in our minds. He saw what we saw. We didn't know why we'd been brought here until then - he used us to help guard the approach. We had to watch as they attacked you; there was nothing we could do."

"It was our fault," Laetitia whispered. "We showed him right where you were." Delenn released her then, held onto her upper arms. Smiled, as warmly as she could. That she could find two good people in a place like this, after everything that had happened - the universe truly did put them in places where they could learn.

"Do not apologize, and do not feel guilty. Corfo is right. There was nothing you could have done. One could no more blame the fish when the tide pulls it out to sea." Laetitia seemed to find some comfort in that, and managed a weak little smile.

"Come, please. Sit with us." Corfo returned to the corner, Laetitia following. Instead, Delenn looked around the inside of the room. It wasn't very large, but seemed larger since all the furniture had been removed. Nothing to use as a weapon, or to hide behind. The monitors cycled through different views of the water reclamation room, empty now, of course; the light from the monitors the only light in the room. Delenn tried the door.

"There's no way out," Corfo said, something in his tone telling her that he felt she was very silly to even try. Delenn knelt, ran her hands along the wall. There, the access panel. That would be her second plan, if the first did not work out. She looked over all the walls - air had to be coming in from somewhere. She found the air vent on the back wall, above where Corfo and Laetitia were sitting. High, near the ceiling, and Delenn had no idea whether or not even she would be able to fit into the duct; it didn't look very big.

She reached down into her right shoe. She had stowed her eating utensil there, not knowing if she and John would need to loosen other screws once they had left her quarters so long ago, not knowing they would run into Ivanova with her little package of tools. Delenn wished she had it now.

"Corfo, do you think you could help me reach that vent?"

"Surely you don't mean to climb into the wall?"

"It would not be the first time today." Delenn slipped off both her shoes, and Corfo got on his hands and knees. She carefully stepped onto his back, Laetitia giving her a hand. "I am not too heavy, I hope?"

"Not at all."

Delenn started unscrewing the vent cover. There was something she wasn't thinking of, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She had two screws loosened before she realized that she no longer had her denn'bok with her. Even if she could crawl out of Brown Sector, she would not be able to get out of the ducts unless she crossed paths with someone else out in the corridor, a 'friendly,' as John put it. She would have been willing to try, but it was clear to her now that Corfo would not be able to fit inside, and she would not leave him.

Delenn climbed down. She was preparing to explain when Corfo, standing, said, "You do not have to worry about me. If the two of you can save yourselves, you should." How did he...?

"You're telepaths." Then there were two tiny sunrises, just over the horizon of her mind, shining warm light and promise. She felt a laugh bubble up inside of her, unbidden; suddenly she felt as light as air. They withdrew their greeting, but the warmth inside her remained. She bowed to them both, then held Corfo's gaze.

"Either we all leave together, or we do not leave." She went to the access panel, began removing it. The process went very quickly now. Within minutes she had it freed, then climbed between the walls, as she had done what now seemed like ages ago. The light from the monitors wasn't strong enough to illuminate the narrow space. Delenn found the bundle of wires, but she could not tell one from another.

Then Laetitia's voice, tight, scared. "Delenn. He knows what you're doing. He's coming."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

She could not simply cut all the wires. That would only keep them from being able to open the door entirely. That might buy them some time, but eventually a Carnifex would be brought to wrench the door open by force. She would have to cut the wire that locked the door; she didn't have to worry about unsealing it, because it did not seem the Minbari had done that to the doors here in Brown Sector. Or, at least, not to this one. Trial and error, then. She would have to hope that she cut the lock wire before she cut both of the ones providing power.

She pulled one wire aside, put it between the tines of the utensil, and pulled with all her might. The utensil wasn't sharp like a knife, but after three attempts she was able to sever the wire.

"Command the door to open, Laetitia."

"Open!" Delenn did not hear the door raise up, so she must have cut something else. She tried another one.

"Again."

"Open!" Nothing.

"Ambassador." Corfo's voice. "He is coming down to this corridor now. He will be here in a matter of minutes." Delenn closed her eyes, sent up a brief prayer. Took her third wire and cut it.

"Laetitia."

"Open!" And the door went up, the most lovely sound. She heard the woman's gasp, and then Corfo was helping her get out. Laetitia was already heading down the corridor. Delenn wasn't sure how long Corfo would be able to run; he was stout, did not appear to engage in much physical activity. But he ran now, legs pumping steadily up and down, and Delenn struggled a bit to keep up. They were heading back toward Grey Sector. If they could just get there, they could get into the larger ducts, and make their way back to the other end of the station.

_A Bloody One, at the end of the corridor_. Delenn heard Corfo's voice inside her mind. _We can't keep going this way._

_He's at the other end of the hallway. He's coming toward us!_ Laetitia, and Delenn winced at the panic that leeched out of the words, seemed to infect her. A Carnifex ahead, the Minbari behind. Delenn felt surprise that if she had to choose one, she would choose to meet the Carnifex.

They came up to an intersection, and without hesitation they all turned right in unison, Delenn feeling a gentle nudge in her mind. That would take them toward the central corridors, toward the access stairs. Delenn generally considered herself to be in good physical condition, and she didn't know if it was a result of the demands of the day or a change in her constitution after her transition, but she was getting tired very quickly. There was a pain in her side, high, just under her lung; her legs ached; her breath tore in and out in sharp gasps. They were running away from Grey Sector now, deeper into Brown Sector. She could only hope that if they climbed up a level or two, they could go back the other way.

_Stop! STOP!_

But it was too late. The Drazi was just ahead of them, as though it had been waiting. Delenn grabbed Laetitia's hand, pulled her back. Corfo did not move as quickly. The Drazi leapt upon Corfo, dragging him down to the ground. Delenn watched in horror as it sank its teeth into the Centauri's throat.

_NO NO CORFO NO OH GOD_. Delenn couldn't help it; she staggered, a hand to her head. Laetitia was screaming, the screams broadcasted right into the center of Delenn's brain. Delenn didn't know how to get her out, how to block her. Then she wrenched her hand out of the woman's grasp, and the overwhelming presence in her mind died down to a manageable level. Laetitia had fallen to her knees, keening. Delenn could see Corfo batting at the Drazi, trying to get it off. She jumped onto its back, locked her arms around its throat. She could hear when it pulled its teeth out, an awful sucking sound as the fangs came out of Corfo's flesh. The Drazi bucked, trying to throw her off, but Delenn wrapped her legs around its middle, grabbed onto her own wrist and pulled her right arm as hard against its windpipe as she could.

The Drazi was on its feet, shaking. It was all she could do to hang on. Then it was running backwards, and she realized too late that it was running her into the wall. She was able to pull her head forward at the last minute, spare her skull. Her back was not so lucky. The metal bulkhead was completely unyielding, and Delenn felt at least one of her ribs break. She didn't let go, though, and the Drazi fell forward onto its knees, and after another minute it fell prone on the floor. Its hands came up to weakly bat at her arm, its claws scraping and tearing the sleeve of her dress but not quite breaking skin. Then it stilled. Delenn kept the pressure on its throat, trying to breathe herself, each inhale provoking a needle-sharp pain. She finally made herself release her wrist, pull back her arm. The muscles in both arms spasmed, and it was difficult to push herself upright.

The sound of Laetitia's crying filtered through the roar of her own blood pumping. Delenn stood, agony on the left side of her body. She went to the woman, sitting with Corfo's head in her lap. He was still alive, but he was covered in blood; it pooled on the ground beneath him. It looked as though his throat had been ripped out.

Delenn unsnapped her dress, tearing at the joins, feeling most of them break. She ripped along the shoulder seam, folded the fabric and pressed it against the wound. It was futile, and she knew it, but she had to try. The fabric soaked through in seconds, and she tore another big piece, put it right on top. Then she just wadded up what was left of the dress and pressed it on top of the rest. Her hands were so sticky with blood she wasn't sure if the top makeshift bandage was already sodden or not. The Centauri's mouth opened just slightly, but no sound came out. His eyes rolled upward, toward the human.

"No, Corfo. We're not leaving you," Laetitia wailed, her tears falling on his face. Delenn watched as the life left him, watched his eyes dim and finally fall dark.

"Laetitia, we have to go." She ignored her, holding Corfo's head between her palms. Delenn reached over, covered one of her hands with her own, then eased Corfo's head back down to the floor. She grabbed Laetitia, dragged her to her feet, and started to go back the way they had been headed, before the Drazi found them.

The Minbari was blocking their way, a Carnifex just behind him.

Laetitia moaned, a sound of such total despair that Delenn felt tears prick her eyes. _Hope should never be abandoned. Hope is more than an idle wish, a vague desire for something better. Hope is the force that pushes us to strive, to struggle, to survive. _The Second Recitation of Diligent Hope. How meaningless the words seemed to her now. Composed by someone who had never faced darkness, who had never known evil. There was no hope.

"You're far more resourceful than I had expected," the Minbari said, and Delenn put her arms around the human girl, who had started shaking. "I had planned on making you one of my pets, but that seems like it would be such a waste. I shall have to find something else to do with you, dear little one."

"I'll kill myself first." The Minbari only smiled at that, and then he nodded at the Carnifex. The creature came forward, and Delenn found she could not move. There was none of the suffocating fear from before, no sense of something weighing her down; the messages she was sending to her legs to run were simply not being received. She could hear Laetitia's thoughts; no words, just a jumble of emotions.

The Carnifex grabbed Corfo's body, lifting him up to that enormous mouth. Delenn's dress fell away, landing in the puddle of blood. Then the Carnifex started eating the corpse, bite after bite, bones and all. Delenn tried to look away, tried to close her eyes, but could not. The Minbari made them watch.

xxx

_0530 hours_

Down a new corridor, the Minbari behind them. If Delenn even thought about doing anything other than walking straight ahead, she felt a prod in her mind. Painful, each time a violation that shook her. She thought she would have gotten used to it by now. She was very aware of the Minbari's eyes on her, aware that she was wearing only a thin shift and one stocking, shoes abandoned in the monitoring station. Her bare foot hurt, and she was surprised she could feel that through the louder onslaught of pain from her broken ribs. Laetitia's eyes had dried long ago; now she seemed to walk in a daze, one hand loosely holding Delenn's. Every now and then one of the human's thoughts would drift up to the surface of Delenn's mind like a bubble of air in a pool of water. _I miss Julius_.

Delenn thought of John. She tried not to; she didn't want the Minbari to know those thoughts. They were hers, and hers alone. But she couldn't help it. She remembered the way he had grabbed her after she had killed the Carnifex, his mouth hard on hers, his arms tight around her. The way he had smelled; strong and male and so comforting. The way his fingers had dug into the flesh on her back, the pleasure she had felt in that dull pain. She could hear a caustic laugh, but didn't know if she heard it with her ears or her mind.

And then John's voice, all around. For a moment, Delenn thought she was having some kind of hallucination, brought on by the stress. But no, his voice was coming out of the loudspeakers set up high on the walls. Delenn put a hand over her heart, and was aware of how much the Minbari had been in her mind only when he left completely.

"Second, all of the enemy aboard - the Carnifex, the mindless ones seemingly under telepathic control, and any other hostile forces - do not deal well with anger. It seems to interfere with their telepathy. So, if you find yourself paralyzed with fear while confronting them, just think about everything that's happened to you today. Think about those you may have lost. And let yourself get really angry." Delenn could tell he was trying to sound strong, in control, but there was something in his voice there at the end. Which one of them had he lost? Ivanova or Garibaldi?

Or was he referring to her?

"Don't let them win. That's all." The loudspeakers cut out, and Delenn turned, waiting for that prod to keep her from doing so, but she continued without restriction. The Minbari was shaking, whether from fear or anger she could not tell. _Let yourself get really angry,_ John had said. Ivanova had been angry, after the Minbari had asked her to join him and she had refused with very strong language; he had collapsed. Delenn herself had been angry, when the Carnifex had come into the communications room, when she had seen John grab at his head beside her; as soon as she'd registered the emotion, she had been able to stand, work up the nerve to take up her denn'bok and address the Carnifex.

Delenn listened to John's voice again in her head, that tiny crack she had heard, that no one else would have caught. _Think about those you may have lost._ John wouldn't lose her. She vowed it, as she came toward the Minbari, who actually took a step back at her approach. She had been so afraid of him, afraid of the Carnifex. She had been afraid of the Carnifex since childhood, since she had first heard the story whispered after one of Minbar's colonies had been attacked. Ever since they had found the body in the stairwell all those hours ago, she had been steeped in fear. All that fear, and it turned out that all that was needed was an application of anger. A kind of Mora'dum.

"John didn't give up. He didn't leave. He's here, in Brown Sector. You're afraid of him, aren't you? You're afraid of me - that is why you told me that lie. You know that together we will defeat you." The Minbari was shaking his head, eyes screwed shut, muttering under his breath.

"What did they promise you, in return for your allegiance?" Delenn found herself suffused with strength. The pain in her ribs melted away. "What was more important to you than the lives of your own people? Money? Spoils?"

The Minbari dropped to his knees, hands clutching his head. His voice came out in a pained snarl. "Power. They give me power."

"No amount of power will save you in the end. I will make sure of that." The Minbari fell forward then, and Delenn kicked him as hard as she could in the head.

She turned. Laetitia was huddled in a ball against the wall, staring up at Delenn with awe in her eyes. Delenn held out her hand, the girl took it, and together they ran up the corridor.

xxx

_0615 hours_

The PPG was out of charge. No more energy caps; even if there were, no time to load. Ivanova kept firing, little sparks all that came out of the weapon, and the last Carnifex standing was only a meter away, claws extended. Time for one last thought. _Guess this is how I meet my end after all._ Then the Carnifex stopped dead in its tracks, its monstrous feet only inches from her head. Ivanova peered up as best she could. There was a hole in its head, gently smoking. Then another hole appeared in its chest, and another. The bright flashes of PPG hits. Ivanova looked down at her gun, then back up at the creature as it toppled backward, dead.

"Commander?" Ivanova rolled onto her shoulder, turned her head as much as she could, sought out who had spoken. And there, just down the corridor, was Zack Allan, PPG still held out in front of him. Garibaldi was breathing hard beside her, kneeling down until his head touched the floor. Hands knotted on the back of his head. She thought he might be crying. Zack was running toward them. He wasn't the only one - she saw Londo and Vir, other Centauri, and then Drazi, Brakiri, Minbari. All of Green Sector it looked like, coming their way.

Ivanova reached over, grabbed at Garibaldi's jacket.

"Look, Michael. Here comes the cavalry."


	8. First Against the Wall

First Against the Wall

_9 February 2260_

_0630 hours_

There were a lot of sounds in the silence, if you listened closely enough. Sheridan listened to the hiss of the air recyclers. One of the vents up the way had something caught in it; whatever it was rattled with a sound like a playing card stuck between the spokes of a bike wheel. He listened to the creak of metal. The station was always moving, rotating. He forgot that, sometimes. There was something else, too, a scurrying noise that took him a long time to decipher. He realized finally that it was a rodent of some kind, probably between the bulkheads, maybe with a little rodent family. He tried to think about a cute little rodent family, and then his brain was sliding down those rails again, back to the pool of blood he still sat in front of.

Sheridan wished he could return to the numb apathy of before. Now he felt scrubbed raw, exposed to the elements. His mind was no longer his own; no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, he could not keep from imagining what had happened to Delenn. He kept seeing her dragged up here, still screaming his name. She would have fought hard, resisted as much as she could, but it wouldn't have done any good. The Carnifex would have used its claws and teeth, tearing at her beautiful face, her skin. How long had it taken? How long was she aware of what was going on? How much had it hurt? Even considering that last question filled Sheridan with so much pain he nearly gagged on it.

Sheridan looked at the brooch in his hands. He had cleaned it as best he could, but knew her blood was still trapped in a hundred different little nooks and crannies. Now that he thought about it, that was good. He wanted to carry her around with him. He pinned it to the front of his shirt.

He stood, looking down again at the pool of blood. Her dress, torn to shreds. Why was her dress here? They hadn't found piles of clothes anywhere else. The Carnifex seemed to eat them along with what body parts they took. Why had this one ripped her dress off?

And then it came to him, and the blood left his head in a swift rush, and he had to crouch down. The Minbari. He must have...must have raped her before he gave her to the Carnifex. Sheridan reached down into his pocket, took out Delenn's denn'bok. Felt the cool metal in the palm of his hand. Such a little thing. So appropriate a weapon for her to carry. Deceptively innocent, yet dangerous. So appropriate to use it to kill the thing that had hurt her. Sheridan felt everything fall into place, a feeling like his entire life was just a prologue to this moment. He didn't care how long he had to walk, how many monsters he had to kill, what he had to do. He was going to find that Minbari, and he would make it beg him for death before he was finished with it.

xxx

_0700 hours_

Ivanova came back up to full consciousness with a snarl. She had been dozing, damn it, and the big Drazi carrying her back to Medlab had managed to bang her feet against the wall for the third time. The movement not only woke her up, it made her feel like her gut was busting open. Again.

"Sorry," the Drazi said, and Ivanova was pretty sure she didn't hear a shred of actual compassion in his voice. He had been pretty pissed when Zack had tasked him to take her back to Green Sector. The Drazi had complained quite strenuously about needing to stay, to fight. Even as she'd been succumbing to lovely, fuzzy dark sleepiness, she'd been impressed by the way Zack had stood his ground, firm yet not overly aggressive. He had more steel in his backbone than she'd supposed.

Ivanova couldn't see Garibaldi, but she could hear him. Or, to be more accurate, she could hear the wheelchair he was sitting in, one of the wheels squeaking in such a way that Ivanova was sure it had been intentionally designed that way just to irritate her. Talk about pissed - the Drazi had nothing on Garibaldi. Every now and then his voice would float up her way.

"I just need a fresh PPG. I'm fine," he was saying now.

The Brakiri pushing him replied right back in a smart voice. "Okay. Get out of the wheelchair, then." They had done this back and forth a couple times already. Ivanova heard Garibaldi sigh, and then let herself drift back into a doze.

xxx

_0715 hours_

Delenn had just run, no plan at all but to put distance between herself and the Minbari. She wondered now why she hadn't killed him when she had the chance. But there was a difference between killing that Drazi slave, who had not been himself, who probably welcomed the release, and who had been killing someone at that moment himself, and killing someone fully aware of his actions, who was at that moment defenseless and at her mercy.

Prevarications. It wasn't only her life on the line, it was the girl's, too. Laetitia, who tripped and stumbled again. Delenn tried to be patient, not get frustrated, but she was having to expend far too much energy just keeping the human up on her feet and moving.

"Can we rest?" she was asking now, and Delenn grabbed her arm, tugged her back to her feet.

"No. We must keep moving." But to where? Perhaps the Minbari was still unconscious. Perhaps he had decided that these two were not worth the effort, not when he had a whole station to plunder. But even as Delenn considered those options, she didn't think them to be true. She had defied him, several times over. She had hunted out his weakness and exploited it. He would not let her go. Getting out of Brown Sector would be difficult, indeed. Delenn still thought their best chance was to get back into the ductwork. She didn't know which ones spanned the station, though, and didn't want to get lost inside the walls.

Still holding Laetitia's hand, Delenn ran to where she thought the nearest access stair was located. They would go up as far as they could, then make for Grey Sector. The Minbari would more than likely expect them to try to get out as soon as they could, not go deeper in first. Delenn could only hope that she was right. It was the best idea she had.

xxx

_0730 hours_

After he'd climbed up to the next level - Brown Twelve, he thought - Sheridan decided that he would go ahead and do what they'd set out to do in the first place. He'd get the power back on, open up all the doors, put the station back to rights. Hopefully it would draw the Minbari out. But it needed to be done anyway, and he was already here. Lights were up on Fourteen, so he jogged up two more flights of stairs, feeling the cuts and scrapes and bruises and bangs all over his body protest in a symphony of pain. What was his pain to what Delenn had felt? A paper cut, a scratch. He pushed himself a little harder.

Down the corridor. He'd never walked the station like this, not in the year-plus he'd been here. Never had seen so much of it. It was easier to reduce it down to Sectors and Levels, and the God's honest truth was that he pretty much kept to certain places. He didn't think he'd ever even been on this level. But Babylon 5 was a big fucking place. Even if a hundred of those things had landed, they'd be spread pretty thin. It was going to take a long time to root them all out. They would need to gather them in one place. Then hit them hard. Sheridan didn't know how to go about doing that, though. The lights first. Then, he'd think about it.

Around the bend, and there was secondary power, up ahead. Guarded by two Centauri zombies. They turned, sensing his approach, running his way with teeth bared. Did they think they looked scary or something? Sheridan extended the denn'bok, still just walking, and as they ran up to him he swung at one, then the other. Bang, bang! They fell, one careening into the wall then onto its stomach, the other down to its knees. Sheridan turned back, shoved the denn'bok right into the spine of the one on the floor, severing it, then he beat the other's head in a few times. And then a few times more, just to be sure.

Secondary power. Light controls here someplace. Sheridan stood in the center of the room, let himself just feel everything. Like looking at one of those 3D comics his great-granddad had collected; just let your eyes unfocus and the picture will pop right out. There, against the far wall. He wondered, not for the first time, why they didn't shut down the systems and then just break everything. Smash in the control panels, tear out all the wires. Maybe they had never had to deal with prey that fought back. Maybe the guards had never failed at their duties before. He flipped switches and hit buttons and tapped on displays, not a clue what he was doing, just letting the back of his brain handle it all.

Then he was on the floor, eyes watering, sure he was blind. Clapped his hands over his face, crying out. It took a minute, slowly drawing his fingers back, letting the lights hit his face with his eyelids still screwed shut, then just resting closed, and then finally he was able to open them fully.

Bright lights. People would be a lot less scared with bright lights.

Now to open up the doors.

xxx

_0800 hours_

Zack and Raoul and Denise had all agreed that the best place to set up shop was right on the central corridor in Brown Sector. It was the most wide open space closest to the probable base of operations for the monsters, and they didn't want to have to deal with narrow hallways and twists and turns.

Zack had hoped to run into the Captain before this point; he would have been happy with Ivanova and Garibaldi, no doubt about that, either, but they'd been banged all to hell when they'd found them. Said Sheridan had marched straight in after Delenn all by himself. Not that Zack could blame him, really. Still, he did not like being in charge, not at all. He didn't want to be the one responsible if this didn't work.

Franklin and his team had joined up with them not ten minutes ago. Lennier and his volunteers from before helped the six from Medlab One set everything up. They arranged the buckets and wastebaskets and empty desk drawers and anything else that would function as a receptacle out on the ground, leaving lanes they could move through. Then they opened up the blood units, poured them in.

"And they're all dosed already?" Zack asked, finding the sight of so many people handling that much blood unsettling even after everything else that had happened this day.

"Did it before we ever left." Franklin finished dumping out the last of the blood on his cart, and then the kids Zack had tasked to help them clean up - when the fight started, they didn't want anything in the way for people to trip over - grabbed the cart and the empty bags and fell back to their reserves at the transition between Grey and Brown Sectors; the young and the old, the Drazi and Brakiri who hadn't been shot up with a nice big fat dose of Vitamin C.

The air was suddenly filled with screams and cries, and for a split-second Zack wondered if the destroyers were already here. But then he was crying out with everyone else, throwing his arm over his eyes. The lights! The lights were back on! Slowly, everyone blinked back tears and looked up. Smiles, laughter, a little crying - Zack was pretty sure he saw Londo take a quick swipe at his eyes. Then murmurs, all around.

_The Captain._

_The Captain got the lights back on._

_Captain Sheridan did this._

Zack was thinking the same thing. When Sheridan's voice had come on over the loudspeakers, they had all stopped dead in their tracks on their way to Brown Sector. Everyone listening, rapt. Get angry. That stops them from being able to get in your head. So simple, just like opening the doors. Zack had wondered if the others felt what he felt, the love for his Captain that was the purest love there was, the love a soldier has for the man who leads him into battle - if Sheridan asked, he would throw himself into the fire without a moment's hesitation, follow him into hell itself. Looking around then at the mostly alien faces, Zack thought that most of them did. Now with a grin he turned to Franklin, expecting to see the same look on the doctor's face, the look he was seeing again all around him - the Captain was alive, the Captain was in the thick of it, all alone, and as long as he was with them there wasn't a chance in hell they wouldn't win. But Franklin didn't seem to notice that the lights were back on, didn't seem to feel the same sudden rush of hope in the air. He was just staring down at the bucket of blood at his feet.

"This is a good plan, doc."

Franklin didn't seem convinced. "Hopefully it'll draw them out, at least."

"Sure," Zack said, listening as Menendez came in on the link - still no sign of anything in Blue or Green. His team was coming their way. "The air recyclers draw from the center, push the air out, then the rotation helps force it back down. All this blood down here - they'll smell it, sooner or later. And they'll have to come."

"I'm afraid they'll know it's tainted."

"Even if they do, we'll be ready and waiting. And anyone who doesn't make it, they won't be a casualty. They'll be a weapon." Zack found it a comforting thought, and then shook his head. He shouldn't be comforted by the idea that if he died and some freak alien monster ate him, at least he'd take it down with him. But it was true, it did make him feel better.

"That's the last of it!" Raoul shouted, and they finished clearing up and took up their hiding spots. A lot harder to hide now, without thick shadows everywhere, but Zack didn't mind. Lights were better. Now they just had to wait.

xxx

_0815 hours_

They'd finally stopped on Brown Thirteen when Laetitia could not climb anymore. She had collapsed, and no amount of tugging and pulling and yanking on Delenn's part could get her to stand up again. Delenn sat beside her, hand on her back, putting her face close to the girl's.

"Laetitia, we cannot stay here."

"I'm so tired." Delenn rubbed the human's back the way John had rubbed hers, in the ducts, after she had killed the Carnifex. Humans found physical contact reassuring. Delenn found that she did, too; more than she had before her change. Now that she was sitting down, she realized how tired she was. It would be so easy to just lean back, close her eyes, and rest. Her left side was a riot of pain, and she gingerly felt along her ribs. At least nothing was poking out through the skin.

Knowing that she shouldn't, Delenn rested her head against the wall, her arm still around Laetitia. She closed her eyes. Just for a minute. She would just give her ribs a brief reprieve. Then they'd be back on their feet, and Delenn would get this girl out of here.

xxx

_0830 hours_

It had seemed so simple. Turning the lights back on had turned out to be hardly any work at all, so opening up all the doors should have been just as easy. But as Sheridan walked his third lap around auxiliary systems on Brown Fifteen, which is where he thought those controls were located, he finally had to admit to himself that he was in the wrong place. Then where the hell was he supposed to go? He'd tried calling out on the Babcom, but it was still down. _Nice for everybody else to pitch in,_ he thought, picking up the first thing his hands fell on and flinging it across the room. Whatever it was, it sure broke to hell with a good, satisfying sound.

As much as he would like to be able to just check every possible room in Brown Sector, he didn't have the time. Anyone who hadn't figured out how to get out of their rooms by now? Fuck 'em. He'd done enough. Now he was going to hunt him a Minbari. He let himself feel all those old prejudices and hatreds from the war. That was always one of the hardest parts about being a soldier - you had to hate your enemy, let yourself see him as nothing but a thing, so that killing him wasn't anything to lose sleep over. And then soon as the war was over, you had to turn around and pretend like the hate had never been there. Couldn't hold onto it, oh no. Couldn't nurse it, couldn't remember the friends you'd lost and the pain you'd suffered. Just let it go, soldier.

Not now. Not this time. He was going to find that son of a bitch, and then he thought he'd take a page from Ivanova's playbook. Maybe she'd like to hang that bone from the wall of her quarters. Thinking of Ivanova made Sheridan remember the last time he'd seen her, white as a ghost, bleeding out on the floor. She might be dead by now. Sheridan couldn't even see for a minute, the rage and hate were so intense. The Minbari had done that, too.

Why hadn't he come for Sheridan yet? Why was he just letting him run all over Brown Sector? Sheridan was tired of running. He was going to march straight back down to primary alarm and make another broadcast. And this time, he was going to call that Minbari out. They were a prideful bunch, really full of themselves. If Sheridan challenged him, he'd come. He'd have to come. And then he would die.

Down the corridor to the access stair. Time to go back down.

xxx

_0845 hours_

Delenn came awake with a start. Someone running down the stairs above them, not two floors away. She grabbed Laetitia and hauled her upright, the movement on her broken ribs creating a pain so intense she had to bite her lips to keep from screaming out. The Minbari must have crept into her mind while she was sleeping, learned where they were; now it was coming for her, so close.

She pushed Laetitia in front of her, wanting her out of the stairwell first. Then she slipped around the corner herself, made herself stand quietly even though every instinct was screaming at her to run. Even barefoot, though, she was afraid that would make too much noise. She grabbed Laetitia, held her in front of her, and clapped a rough hand over the human's nose and mouth. Then she bit her lips again, tasting warm blood in her mouth. Even with those precautions, their breathing sounded loud enough to be heard in Grey Sector.

Whoever it was kept going down the stairs. He hadn't heard them. One of the slaves, apparently; the Minbari would have known they were hiding just out of sight. Delenn waited until she couldn't hear the footsteps thundering down the stairs anymore, then she took the girl's hand and pulled her down the corridor behind her.

xxx

_0900 hours_

Lennier huddled against the wall behind a stack of crates, between two human maintenance workers and a Centauri woman. The woman was so excited, Lennier had to keep turning around, glaring at her. She would look down, seemingly chastened, and then a few minutes later he'd feel her bouncing on her heels, whispering under her breath. "I'm going to kill a Bloody One. Just like I always wanted to." Finally he had had enough.

"If I die because you cannot stay silent, my clan will be very upset with you. They may feel the need to avenge my death." That seemed to do the trick. Her eyes got very wide, and she finally sat down, and this time she stayed quiet.

Lennier wished he felt as excited she did. He had been close enough to hear Zack get as much information out of Ivanova and Garibaldi as he could before they'd been taken back to Green Sector. Delenn, taken. Sheridan had gone in after her. Or, at least, that's what they had thought. But not long after that he'd made a station-wide announcement, and then he had apparently restored the lights. He wasn't looking for Delenn; Sheridan was running through Brown Sector on his own, putting the systems back online.

Lennier tamped down his anger. Sheridan had to weigh one life against a quarter million. That he had chosen to fight for the station as a whole should not surprise Lennier at all, should not give him pause. But he thought about Delenn, dragged into the Carnifex's lair, maybe even now still alive. Someone should go in after her. It should be him. He thought about backing out of this space, creeping down until he could get out of the staging area, down to the nearest stairs, up a level or two, then back into Brown Sector. He could do it.

Lennier tightened his grip on his denn'bok, then turned. He only took one small step before he saw the faces behind him. Scared, anxious, defiant, excited. All of them ready to sacrifice themselves to save the station. Almost at the edge of his sight, Lennier could see Vir's face, pale and terrified and yet resolute.

He turned back. Settled into his place. Lennier would fight.

xxx

_0930 hours_

No one stood in Sheridan's way as he returned to primary alarm. Better for them. There had been a fleeting moment as he had descended the access stair when he had thought he'd felt a presence, but no one showed himself and the moment passed so quickly he wasn't sure it wasn't just his imagination.

Sheridan tried to plan what he was going to say, decide which words would most infuriate the Minbari, would be most effective in bringing him into the web. But he couldn't think. Words were completely inadequate to express what was still churning through him, the fury that was keeping him marching down the corridor, keeping him alert, keeping him up on his feet. Sheridan was dimly conscious that there was something underneath the fury, a dark grief that he could not face right now. If he let himself turn that way, he wouldn't be able to do what he needed to do.

Before he knew it, he was there. He flipped everything on, and then Sheridan was speaking, hearing himself echoed out in the corridor, his voice filling the station. He could feel his face tightened in a sneer, could feel his fists clenching at his sides.

"This is the Captain. I have a message for one person in particular, and you know who you are. You think you can hide from me? I will hunt you beyond the Rim if I have to. I will hunt you every day until I find you, even if it takes the rest of my life. The only hope you have is to run and hide. Are you going to hide? Are you too scared to meet me out in the open? Too afraid of Starkiller? You know where to find me."

xxx

_0945 hours_

Delenn and Laetitia stood still as statues in the center of the corridor, looking up toward the nearest loudspeaker. John's voice, filling the air again, and this time Delenn didn't hear anything broken or lost. This time, the anger she could hear behind every word made her a little afraid. Whether she was afraid for the Minbari to whom John was clearly speaking, or for John himself, she couldn't tell.

"You know where to find me." The loudspeakers cut off, and Delenn wanted to scream at them, at him. _What are you doing? Why are you saying this? Do you want to be killed?_

"Laetitia, is anyone with him?" Maybe he had met up with others, and they were preparing an attack...?

"I don't know. I'm only a P4," the human said, tears limning every syllable.

Delenn let go of the girl for the first time in hours, and paced up and down the corridor. Quick steps. John still had to be in Brown Sector, had to be relatively close. For some reason, he was baiting the Minbari, trying to tempt him into a personal fight. Delenn knew, no matter how much she might wish otherwise, that there were no others with him, no planned attack. Then she remembered the pool of Corfo's blood, her torn dress. _Oh, Valen._

"I have to find him," Delenn said, going back to the stairs. Laetitia followed, crying softly.

"I thought we were going to Grey Sector?"

"The Minbari will kill him!" She waited for the girl to catch up, and then made herself jog, feeling every part of her body scream out. John must believe that she was dead, that she had been killed by the Minbari. And now he was looking for revenge. Normally she would pity any being who stood in John's way, but the Minbari was something different. She couldn't help the knot of dread growing in her stomach.

Then Laetitia was digging in her heels, coming to such an abrupt stop that she jerked Delenn's arm hard enough to make Delenn fear she had pulled it out of the socket. The jolt of pain that hit her shoulder temporarily banished the pain from her broken ribs.

"Laetitia, we have to go." The human's emotions were flowing through the connection of their joined hands, but there were no words to decipher this time. It was just a scream, a horrible, hopeless scream. A Carnifex came around the turn toward them, alone. No attempt to enter their minds, paralyze them with fear or with promises. It just came at them, and seeing one in full light for the first time was enough to make Delenn fear that she would go mad. It didn't even appear to have skin; all she could see was rotten flesh, exposed veins filled with black blood, cancerous tumors and gaping sores. She could see the thing's sharp fangs, rows of them, and Delenn knew in one single second of absolute clarity that those fangs would be the last thing that she saw.

It was only a few meters away when it stopped. Delenn looked wildly around, trying to see who had come to save them, but they were still alone. The Carnifex opened its mouth even wider, and the sight was enough to make Laetitia moan. Delenn felt her knees go weak, and was afraid she would faint, something she had never done before in her life. Then the Carnifex's tongue slipped out of that mouth, flicking out this way and that, seeming to lead the Carnifex up to the air vent in the wall. Its tongue slid between the vent grating, and then it lifted one massive fist full of claws and smashed the vent into the open duct behind. It clawed at either side of the duct, ripping the metal bulkhead into shreds, and Delenn was able to force herself to move to the opposite wall, pulling Laetitia with her. It was good timing - the Carnifex turned, ran past them down the hall; if they hadn't moved, they would have been trampled.

A long minute passed, and they just stood there, watching the Carnifex disappear out of sight, and then waiting for its inevitable return. But it was gone.

"What...Delenn, what happened?" Delenn didn't know, and didn't care to find out. She wanted to find John. He had to be here in Brown Sector, but where? Delenn shook off Laetitia's hands, knelt down right in the middle of the corridor, ignoring the way it felt like her broken ribs were rubbing together, and closed her eyes. She shouldn't need candles or a particular place to meditate, and realized that she had begun to rely too much on the peace and solitude of her quarters.

Where was he? She knew the answer. She could feel it, somewhere inside her mind; she just had to find it. Delenn pushed aside the thousand different pains, the fear and worry and fatigue, the jumble of thoughts. She quit searching, quit demanding an answer from her mind. She opened herself to the universe.

_"What happens if there's a hull breach?" she asked. They were in her quarters, in absolute darkness. The alarm had finished its braying cry, and now all she could hear was his breathing. He still had his hands on her arms, and the warm pressure there made something low in her belly twist in a strange way. She wasn't aware of how close they were until she realized she could feel his heartbeat under her palm._

_"Emergency bulkheads should drop, seal it off. I don't know why we lost lights; all primary systems have about three levels of redundancy, and everything's housed in the center of the station."_

Delenn's eyes opened, and she slowly rose to her feet. "Center of the station. Brown One. We need to go back down the stairs." Without waiting to see if Laetitia were following, she headed down the corridor.

xxx

_1015 hours_

Sheridan crouched behind a pallet about fifty meters down the corridor from primary alarm. He had a wall at his back, and was able to watch the approach coming and going. He'd expected the Minbari by now, and wondered if someone else had found him first, if someone else had gotten his kill. Instead of making him feel better, the thought just made him angry. He needed to kill the Minbari; it was important.

Someone was coming. Sheridan made sure he had a good grip on his denn'bok, bounced up and down on his heels a few times. He didn't want any delays in jumping out of his hiding space. No cramps, no pins and needles. He needed to be fast and quiet. He wanted it over quick, and then he would take his time.

But it wasn't the Minbari. It was a human, and as he came closer, Sheridan could tell he was wearing an EarthForce uniform. One of his men. One of his pilots - Menendez. The pilot stopped outside primary alarm, looking inside the room, then up and down the hallway. Then inside the room again - very calm. He must have heard Sheridan's last message and come to check it out. Menendez and his team had been very efficient the past day; the last time they had checked in before the four of them had been ambushed and their links destroyed, the group of pilots had racked up eight Carnifex kills. Maybe there weren't as many of them on the station as Sheridan had thought; maybe they had finished them off. Including the Minbari.

And just like that, Sheridan felt nothing but relief. It was over. He could go back to his quarters, lock himself inside, and figure out what the hell he was going to do next.

He stood, walked up to the pilot. "Menendez!" He turned, and then smiled at Sheridan, a great big smile completely free of affect. Sheridan had had no idea it would be this good to see another person again, another one of his own. He jogged up the corridor, a hundred questions jostling to be asked first. _How did you finish them off? How many casualties? What's left to be done? _And most importantly - _who killed the Minbari?_

Sheridan was only a few feet away when he finally realized that Menendez's smile wasn't relieved or warm or friendly - it was mindless. By then it was too late, and the thing that had once been one of his men was on him.

xxx

_1045 hours_

Down the stairs. Each step its own little hell, complete in and of itself. 'Hell' was a word Delenn had looked up ages ago, after hearing the humans use it in a variety of expressions and situations. _What the hell?_ was the most common; it was used when the speaker seemed angry, confused, even pleased. Delenn had been able to understand the concept of heaven; it was easy to imagine the desire for a paradise, a place with no troubles and no worries. But hell? She hadn't been able to help but wonder about a culture that spent any energy imagining a vile, horrid place, full of torment and unending pain. Now, she thought, the simple truth was that she had led a very sheltered life. Even what she had thought to be the agony of the war with the humans was nothing, really; she had been safe and sound on the _Valen'tha_ throughout. Her worries and seeming anguish had been a matter of philosophy only. A construct, something she felt only because she chose to.

But now she understood. This was hell. Every time she took a breath, there were two different pains, both of equal intensity but still quite different; one when she inhaled, one when she exhaled. A separate pain as she came down each step, her weight shifting from side to side. Her shoulder still ached; the bottoms of her feet felt burned raw; her head was swimming; she was still aware of her thirst, and under that, of a bone-numbing fatigue.

_John. John is close._ The thought kept her going. She would find him, before the Minbari did. He would see that she was alive, and that there was no need for vengeance. They would steal away, and find a quiet place to hide. Something had drawn the Carnifex away. Something it had sensed in the vents. A trap? Let the rest of them deal with it; the two of them would wait it out. There was no more they could do.

Laetitia's hand squeezed hers, and the first coherent thought in hours surfaced in her mind. _Delenn? Someone's coming, a few floors down._

They were on Brown Three, so whoever it was must be close to the central corridor. _John?_ she couldn't help but wonder. But then Laetitia was drawing her out of the stairwell, just behind the corner. Footsteps. More than one person.

Delenn peeked around the corner, wishing that the lights were still off. It was much easier to hide in the dark. She was sure that whoever was coming would spot her, but she had to know.

The Minbari, who was moving much slower than he had earlier, but who was still moving. Delenn did her best, but couldn't keep a wave of hatred from flashing through her mind. She waited for the Minbari to sense it, to look her way with those awful eyes, but he just kept climbing. Behind him, a man in an Earthforce uniform, with an unconscious figure slung over his shoulder. John. A string of six Carnifex followed.

Delenn clapped a hand over her own mouth to keep from shouting out. A wave of overwhelming pity and sympathy from Laetitia wrapped itself around her like a thick blanket, and she could feel the human start to pull her down the corridor, away from the stairs. Delenn shook her head, feeling the motion as though it were happening to someone else.

_Delenn. We have to go. This is our chance._

_I won't leave him._

_They're leaving the station. I could see it in his mind; he's losing control. Something has happened to the rest of the monsters. They're leaving._

_I have to get John back._

_Delenn, you can't! There's nothing you can do._

_Where are they going?_

_To Downbelow. There's a docking bay. He's sent word for a ship to pick them up there. Delenn, you saw how many of them there were. You don't have any weapons. You can't do anything. I'm sorry._

Delenn wrenched her hand out of the girl's grasp, then turned and grabbed her by the shoulders. Kept her voice under control, but firm.

"You go down this corridor. Hide if you sense anyone coming. Get into Grey Sector. Someone will find you."

"You can't leave me!"

"You'll be fine. Just get to Grey Sector." Delenn concentrated on sending something warm and good through her hands - the feeling she'd had in John's arms, the feeling of being safe; she didn't know if Laetitia could sense it, if there even was anything to sense, but it was all she had to give. Then she left the girl, and went back to the stairs. One last journey into the dark.


	9. Watershed

Watershed

_9 February 2260_

_0900 hours_

When the first Carnifex entered the central corridor, Franklin found he couldn't stop being afraid. But it was a good fear, an ordinary fear, not the mind-freezing paralysis he'd experienced when he had faced the Carnifex in Medlab One. Seeing the creature under bright lights was a horrifying experience; he'd never thought there would be an alien that didn't fascinate him, that didn't make him want to forget everything else and just dive into research and tests and hypotheses - this, though. This Carnifex he would have been quite happy to never see at all.

The monster slunk down the corridor, thin tongue snaking back and forth through the air, claws extending and retracting. Franklin found himself glad that he was well back from the front lines - if the Carnifex realized it was surrounded, if it learned the blood was poisoned and decided to retaliate, he should be safe. Guilt followed that thought almost immediately, and he glanced over at Hobbs beside him. She looked petrified, and he reached over and put his hand on top of hers.

The Carnifex slowly approached the nearest bucket of blood, crouching down low. Franklin watched with numb horror as some thick, dark fluid dripped off the creature's fangs. As it knelt with surprising grace, two more Carnifex came in, the same slow and tentative entrance as the other. The first began to drink the blood, and Franklin fought against the rolling wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He could see several people ahead of him turn away, covering their eyes.

The other two began to drink. Three others came up behind them. Franklin kept his eyes on the first, waiting and hoping. How would it react? Would it be aware that the blood was eating it up from the inside? Was there enough Vitamin C to even make a difference? He hadn't had time to do enough tests. Surely he hadn't gathered all of free Green Sector here and then drawn all of the monsters into their midst with no hope of success.

Another Carnifex entered. The first moved on to its second receptacle filled with blood. Franklin began to feel the first glimmers of dawning despair.

xxx

_1045 hours_

Sheridan came back to consciousness in fits and starts. At first, he thought he had nodded off to sleep in his office chair - what had he been working on? Paperwork, probably. It never ended. He decided that whatever it was could wait a little while longer, and he let the darkness claim him again.

The second time he came to, he found he couldn't quite open his eyes, but he could see the light through his eyelids, warm and red. He was moving from side to side. Bumpy ride. He decided that he must be back on the farm, napping in the corn in the back of the wagon as his dad sat up front, Molly and Ray taking them into town. They were good horses; when was the last time he'd ridden either? A long time. Now that he was back home, he'd have to take them out sometime soon. Sheridan dozed then, every now and then awake just enough to think about how nice it was to have a rest. Did he bring Delenn back home with him? She would love the green and gold fields, stretching to the horizon.

Delenn. He came awake with a jolt, realizing he was being carried, remembering Menendez leaping at him with mad eyes and bared teeth at the same time he remembered the pool of blood, Delenn's torn dress. He tried to raise his head but couldn't; a lightning bolt of pain hitting him behind his eyes hard enough to nearly drive him back into blessed unconsciousness again. He was slung over someone's shoulder, and thought if he could just fight enough, whoever it was (_Menendez?_) would have to drop him. But his hands were tied together, and he didn't seem to have any strength.

Sheridan slowly did his best to open his eyes, but one seemed stuck shut. The other was only able to see blurry floor. He listened as hard as he could, but he had no idea where he was, how long he'd been carried like a sack of potatoes through the station. He could hear something, vaguely, like the glimmer of heat at the end of a road. No words, just...feelings, emotions. They were inside his head, and he moaned, wanting to claw the malignancy out.

Then he was falling, hitting the floor in a jumbled heap, and for a split second he was sure his skull had cracked open. He tried to lift his hands again, but before he could, they were grabbed, yanked above his head and secured to something, dragging the rest of his body upright with him.

"What?" he croaked out. God, his head. It throbbed and pounded and screamed, every headache he'd ever had all rolled into one. The light was so bright. Even with his eyes closed, it was blinding. Why had he turned the lights back on?

"I've already sent for them! Finish your job. I will not wait." The Minbari's voice, choked with anger, and Sheridan felt an echo of that rage float through him. He could hear the heavy footsteps of someone pacing back and forth in front of him. Something huge nearby; he could sense the presence, and felt his flesh break out in hard goosebumps, still an unnerving sensation for all that it had happened a dozen times already in the past day.

Someone was in front of him, grabbed his chin hard. Shook his head. Sheridan forced his working eye open, and there was the Minbari's face right in front of his. Sheridan lunged forward, but his hands were still tied together and secured to something above him. He kept trying, teeth bared himself - he'd rip the thing's throat out. There was none of the smug insouciance he'd seen on the alien's face earlier. He stared back at him with the same raw hatred Sheridan had no doubt was reflected on his own features.

"I'll kill you," he gritted out.

"As much as I would like to do the same to you, little soldier, I have something better in mind," the Minbari said. "A fitting punishment, I think." The Minbari looked to his right, and Sheridan turned his head - his neck was broken, it had to be, nothing could hurt so much otherwise - and followed his gaze. Four others, tied to a pipe above their heads that ran along the wall. The one in the middle, a docking worker, had her head slumped forward, unconscious. Two others - maintenance, he thought - were staring ahead, faces twisted by terror. The last was a pilot, and she wept, looking at Menendez, who crouched in front of her, twisting his head back and forth like a confused puppy, but grinning at her, still grinning.

Sheridan watched as a Carnifex approached the female pilot. She tried to draw back, but she had nowhere to go. _What was her name?_ Sheridan should know, he should know the names of all his pilots, but he had absolutely no idea. The Carnifex stopped just in front of her, then turned to the Minbari. Roared - a sound like something ancient and malevolent struggling to be born.

"Do it!" the Minbari hissed, and he stood, facing the creature. "Do it!" The Carnifex continued to face the Minbari for a few seconds, then turned back to the pilot. It raised one arm to its massive mouth and scraped a fang along the inside of its wrist. Black blood poured out in a glut, and Sheridan could hear the sound of it splashing on the floor. Menendez grabbed the pilot's head, forced her mouth open. She screamed and bucked and thrashed, but to no avail.

"Stop! Stop it!" Sheridan screamed, jerking at his restraints helplessly. The Carnifex brought its wrist down to the pilot's mouth, smearing the blood inside. Her screams were choked by desperate retching, but Menendez and the Carnifex didn't stop. Finally, she was let go. She sank forward onto her knees, and Sheridan was sure she was dead.

Then she jerked up, body tensed. Her back arched more than it should - _she's having a seizure._ Sheridan realized he was still trying to free himself only when he finally pulled his shoulder out of the socket, and white-hot pain blinded him for a second. He missed seeing the pilot vomit, but he heard it, and nearly lost the battle to keep from throwing up himself. Laughter then, laughter like the sound of screws being driven through a bulkhead; awful, burrowing into his brain. He turned to look again, the agony in his shoulder bringing a new wave of nausea along with it. Menendez still held the pilot's head, but now she was grinning up at him, black blood slicked down her chin and the front of her body. They were laughing together.

Menendez released her, moved to the next person in the line, one of the maintenance workers, who started screaming. The Carnifex was licking the blood from its own wound, and only reluctantly moved over, its eyeless face turned the Minbari's way, fangs bared. The bloody wrist was lowered once again, and Sheridan knew what his punishment was going to be.

xxx

_0915 hours_

Fifteen of them now, fifteen of the monsters drinking the blood they'd put out for them, and Zack watched as five or six more came their way. _Shit._ He'd told Doc Franklin it was a good plan, and it had been the best anyone could come up with, but it hadn't worked. Whatever he'd done to the blood just wasn't doing the trick; they were hoping to kill the things, and instead they were throwing them a party.

Just as Zack was starting to think of ways they could all sneak away, the first of the Carnifex suddenly stood fully upright. It turned its head back and forth, and even though it had no eyes, Zack got the feeling it was looking around. That tongue was out again, not like a snake's tongue but like a snake itself, flicking this way and that. Then the monster made a noise, the most god-awful noise Zack had ever heard, and he'd heard some nasty ones this day. It was a like roar and a scream all mixed together in a blender, with an awful screechy whine thrown in for that extra zip. One by one, the other destroyers joined in, and then the carnage began.

Zack had expected to have to lead in the troops, stand and rally them, run into the center of the horde with weapons raised. What he didn't expect was for the monsters to turn on each other, and even start tearing themselves apart. Claws and fangs ripped through rotten flesh, blood everywhere, and Zack wasn't the only one who turned away and yacked right on the floor. The fight seemed never-ending, but finally the sounds of tearing and biting and eating and dying wore away, and relative silence descended.

Zack took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the crate he was hiding behind. Five destroyers, picking through the remains of their buddies. Every now and then they would lift an arm or a leg free from one of the bodies, the limb coming loose with disgusting ease, and then they'd have a little snack. _They must have got here last_, Zack thought, waiting for them to roar and freak out like the others, but they never did. He wondered if the Vitamin C would be too diluted now to harm them, filtered as it now was through the blood of their own.

There were a couple hundred of them here. A couple hundred aliens whom he had worked very hard to assemble and get down here ready for a fight. They could take on five of these bastards. Zack stood up, aiming his PPG before he finished clearing the crate, and started shooting. In half a second dozens of others had popped up, and before he knew it, everyone was coming out of their hiding spots, ready to finish them off.

xxx

_1115 hours_

Delenn lost the trail at the top of the stairs, and wished she'd brought Laetitia with her - the telepath would have been able to point her in the right direction. Even though that would have been the most selfish thing imaginable, she was so angry with herself it was all she could do to keep from crying. _Stop, Delenn. Regain your focus. You must find John._ But she was so tired, and she hurt so much, and the station was just too big. What could she possibly do? No weapons, wearing only a shift and one stocking, body broken and weak. She was no warrior, and prayers were no longer any use.

Then she heard them - shouts and screaming. Down the corridor. Delenn went that way, forcing herself to move as quickly as she could. Running was out of the question, and the best she could manage was a kind of shambling trot. For a brief moment, she found herself wondering if she looked like one of the mindless slaves. Maybe this was how they were made.

She stopped in front of a door, one that had been wrenched open from below, the metal buckled and twisted. A Carnifex had done this. Delenn read the sign on the wall beside the door: _AFT DOCKING BAY. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY._

Delenn ducked under the door, then froze. There they were, against the opposite wall, no more than ten meters away. Surely one of the Carnifex would see her, would come her way, and she would never be able to escape, not this time. But no one noticed her presence. Not the Carnifex, not the Minbari, not the five humans tied to a pipe that ran along the wall. John was the last, and Delenn felt a sharp pain under her sternum when she saw him. His face was bruised, cut; one of his eyes was swollen shut. Blood from a wound on the top of his head. He was hanging from his bonds in a strange way. But he was alive, and Delenn let out a slow, shuddery breath.

Something was happening to one of the other captives. Delenn couldn't see at first; a Carnifex blocked her view. Then it joined another as that one stumbled back from the captives; at first, Delenn watched the first monster take the other's hand, and she felt a moment of profound confusion. Had she been wrong? Did they have feelings, emotions, relationships with one another? But no; it was just sinking its fangs into the other's wrist, drinking its blood. The other four Carnifex crowded around, and the Minbari started yelling at them out loud, trying to pull the two in the center apart. Then Delenn was able to see the captives on the opposite end from John. Both were still tied to the pipe, but both had the thick, black Carnifex blood covering their mouths, running down the fronts of their bodies.

They were under the Minbari's thrall, now. Blank eyes, vapid grins. And the Minbari was even now shouting at the Carnifex, hitting one hard in the arm. "We don't have much time! They're nearly here, and I want this done. Finish it!" The Minbari easily evaded the half-hearted swipe of the Carnifex's claws, and then it came to the third captive. And if nothing stopped them, John would be infected soon. Turned into some kind of brain-dead dark servant. Fouled beyond any hope of recovery.

Delenn looked back at him, and was shocked to discover that John was staring right back at her, his face transformed by wonder. She raised a finger to her lips, and he slowly nodded. Then Delenn looked down the length of the docking bay - she had to find a weapon. She couldn't think about how she was going to kill or incapacitate six Carnifex, let alone the Minbari - she just had to do something. There were stacks of boxes, pallets waiting to be unloaded, barrels. A toolbox open not far away, but she could see nothing deadly enough. An industrial mover, but she didn't have the first clue how such a device was operated, and besides, it was against the opposite wall, beyond the group of captives and monsters.

Then she realized that the room itself was a weapon. All she had to do was get to the other end before they saw her. John and the captives were tied to a thick pipe; their bonds looked to be made of rope, and Delenn could only hope the knots were secure enough. She began to slink along the wall, moving behind the boxes and crates whenever she could.

The middle captive, screaming. How long did she have? How long would it take before they made it to John? She had only covered ten meters of ground, had at least another thirty to go. Now she came to an open space, no cover at all. She found herself wishing again that John had never turned the lights back on. Delenn stepped out from behind a cluster of barrels, edged to the side with her back to the wall. John was still looking her way, and just as she was only a few meters from some kind of large machine to hide behind, the Minbari followed John's gaze and looked right at her.

They stared at each other for a long beat, and Delenn felt him trying to climb inside her mind, felt a warm lethargy grip her limbs. But he was weaker than before, and Delenn found that she could shake him off.

"Take her! Bring her to me!" the Minbari screamed, pointing her way. Delenn didn't wait to see how many Carnifex answered the Minbari's command; she turned and ran.

She ran for the airlock controls on the far wall. The pains all through her body seemed to dissipate, and she found herself realizing that even if she were able to open the airlock before the monsters retrieved her, she had no way of keeping herself from being sucked out into the vacuum herself. But that was fine. Better that she die relatively quickly than John be turned into the echo of a monster himself.

The English letters and words on the airlock controls swam in front of her, and for a brief, eternal moment Delenn couldn't read them at all. Then she was hitting the right buttons, everything so straight forward.

She could hear one of them, one of the Carnifex, and it was only a few seconds away. In a moment, its claws would tear through her back, rip at her flesh. She could almost feel it already.

_No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother._ Had this been the Inquisitor's purpose? To prepare her for this moment? If so, Kosh had chosen well. She was ready.

She only had to pull down the handle. It was nearly as thick as her arm, and she didn't think she would be strong enough. But it came down, slowly, and at the last second she looped one of her arms through it, held on to her other wrist just as she had done when she'd choked the Drazi slave to death.

Flashing lights. An alarm, loud and strident. The first harsh whisper of air rushing through the opening doors.

The Carnifex was a pace away, and she could feel its breath against her back.

A noise like she had never heard before, so loud that it ceased to be a noise but instead became part of the fabric of the Universe itself. Something was pulling at her feet, her legs, and she found herself tugged nearly horizontal to the floor. The metal of the handle cutting into her arm - the pain was unbearable. She had to let go. She couldn't stand this another second. Delenn screamed, unable to hear herself at all, knowing she was screaming only because she could feel something in her throat tearing. She let go of her wrist - a bone in her arm broke, she could feel it - and groped at the airlock control panel. Hit every button blindly.

The pressure began to relent. The noise diminished. Delenn realized her feet were on the floor. She slipped down the wall, her arm sliding out of the handle limply, and she collapsed in a heap. No time to rest; she had to make sure John was safe. One arm was broken, one shoulder out of its socket, but no matter. She used both arms to push herself back up to her feet, the pain back and as strong as ever; Delenn didn't notice it. She could no longer remember a time before the pain.

She turned, walked away from the airlock. Forced her eyes to open. Black spots swimming in front of her vision, and she couldn't draw enough air into her lungs. No Carnifex in sight; the human slave who had not been restrained gone as well. Horrible fear stole into her heart, and she looked for the pipe, didn't see it at first, and she was sure that the captives had been pulled out through the airlock along with the rest. No - there he was, hanging limply from the pipe, and as she watched he slowly brought his head up, looked her way. Then John looked back down the row of captives, the brief smile that had been on his face melting away.

The Minbari, holding onto the leg of the female captive on the end. He was standing himself, and had a difficult time doing so. Delenn could see even from this distance that something had happened to his leg; great gashes in the flesh of his thigh, deep enough that she could see the bone. Then he turned toward John, and Delenn saw the knife he held in his hand.

There was a toolbox over on a pallet by the door, but she'd never get there in time. She knelt and pulled off her remaining stocking, and everything was moving too slow. Too slow, she had to move faster, but after a few steps in the direction of the Minbari she stumbled and fell. It was like her legs weren't moving as a team, and she had to move one, then the other, each time an individual command, after she got herself upright again. The Minbari had abandoned walking, and was dragging himself toward John with his arms, knife still in his hand, his useless and ruined leg sliding along the floor behind him.

John struggled against his bonds, to no avail. Delenn would have to get to the Minbari first. She pushed herself to go faster, no energy to do so but she found it anyway. Blackness crowding in around her, and she pushed it away. Only a few more minutes, and she would be finished. She was gaining on the Minbari; she would reach him before he reached John. She was almost there.

The lights went out.

She was standing in Grey Six, in the communications relay room. A Carnifex lay dead on the ground beside her, her denn'bok sticking out through its head. Delenn couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop herself from sucking in air even though she knew she was hyperventilating and needed to control herself. Even after she had told John the story of the Carnifex, there had been a part of her that hadn't really believed that they existed, that they could possibly be here, on Babylon 5. But there it was, its monstrous hulk of a body not a meter away. She had come out of hiding and walked right up to it, told it to leave - what had she been thinking? The fear that had fled for a few moments reappeared, and Delenn was afraid she would be sick.

Then John was coming her way, his face hard. He was angry with her, she could tell; he was staring at her with such intensity, and as he drew closer Delenn flinched away, waiting for him to strike her. But he didn't - he grabbed her with rough hands and pulled her close, then kissed her, if this hard and almost violent embrace could be called a kiss. He moaned into her mouth, arms coming around her, fingers digging into her back. Delenn felt a jolt of something run the length of her body, coil deep in her belly and between her legs, and she grabbed at the back of John's head, wanting him all around her, wanting him inside her.

Then he was pushing her back, and the good hurt of his hands on her back was gone, replaced by his hands on her arms, and this hurt wasn't good at all. His face twisted, and she barely recognized him.

"John, I had to. It would have eaten us." Then he pushed her, hard, and she nearly tripped as she stumbled backward. "John?"

"Get away from me."

"John, what are you doing?"

"Don't call me that," he spit out, sneering at her. "Don't call me by my name like you know me."

"But you said-"

"You're just a Minbari," he cut her off, and Delenn felt the first tear slide down her cheek. She had known this day would come, eventually. Hadn't she always known? "As though I would ever want a Minbari as a friend, let alone..." John laughed then, an acidic laugh that cut her right to the bone. "What, did you think some hair on your bony head would be enough? Did you think I would invite you into my bed? Do you have any idea how many friends I lost during the war? People I loved, people that mattered? Killed by your kind, dead because of you. Because of what you did."

Delenn tried to say something, but the words were stuck in her throat, and she found herself choking on them. John kept going, and she wanted to clap her hands over her ears, block his words out. But she couldn't.

"You think they were the monsters on this station? You're wrong. You're the monster. Millions dead because of you. They called me Starkiller once. They'll call me something even greater now, after I rid the universe of you." He was right, of course, and Delenn bowed her head and accepted whatever he decided was the just punishment for her sins. The last thing she saw were John's hands, reaching up for her throat.

xxx

_1130 hours_

The Carnifex were starting to turn on each other, and Sheridan dully wondered if all of the blood in the air kept them from being able to control themselves, whatever slight amount of control they'd had to begin with. He didn't want to watch anymore; he just wanted to wait for the end to come. It wouldn't be long now. He turned away from the sight of the Minbari slapping at one of the creatures as though it were some overgrown, mutated pet, and that's when he saw her.

Delenn, standing on the opposite side of the room, just inside the door. She was looking at the others, her face calm. Sheridan wondered if he were already dead, but no, surely if he were dead he wouldn't still be hurting like this. He must be hallucinating, his mind losing its grip on reality. Then she turned and looked at him, and his breath caught. Her hair was a riot of dark curls outlining her pale face, and she was wearing something filmy and white; Sheridan had seen suns rise behind alien planets, had seen stars peeking through nebulae like jewels in the mist, had seen verdant green shoots growing out of good earth, but he had never seen anything as beautiful as her.

She had come for him. Not an angel - they were just Vorlons, anyway - but a messenger. She had told him once that if something happened to her, she would see him again, in the place where no shadows fell. He would join her there, now; she had come for him. He opened his mouth to tell her that he was ready, but Delenn held a finger to her lips. He nodded, and then watched as she started to move down the wall, away from him.

_What is she doing?_ Sheridan wondered, and then as he watched, he began to notice things he hadn't before. She was hurt; she moved gingerly, and held one of her arms crooked up close to her chest. What he had thought to be some kind of ethereal gown looked instead like a slip of some kind, and it might have been white at one time, but now it was dirty, ripped. There was blood on it here and there. Delenn slipped behind some barrels, and Sheridan did his best to shake the cobwebs out of his brain and think.

A pool of blood. Her dress, ripped and torn. But she wasn't wearing her dress now. Had someone else died in that place?

Was she alive?

Sheridan watched her emerge again, and he couldn't help it; he moaned at the sight of her. Alive. She was alive, and right here. He forgot about the Carnifex, the Minbari, all of it, and was drawing in a breath to call out to her when he heard a voice, angry and shrill, scream something out in an alien language. The Minbari, and he was staring at Delenn himself. One of the Carnifex began to thunder away in pursuit of her, but she was running. Running fast, as though she had just got up after a good night's sleep, that dark hair billowing behind her. Sheridan tugged at his restraints again, screaming out her name.

"Delenn! You're going the wrong way!" She was running right to the end of the docking bay, and there was nothing there but the airlock. The Carnifex would corner her and if she were lucky, it would tear her apart right there. But no, the Minbari wouldn't want that. She'd be brought back, tied to this pipe, and be turned into one of them. Just like Sheridan himself. And Sheridan knew in a moment of absolute despair that the Minbari would make him watch.

But Delenn wasn't cowering in the corner of the docking bay, wasn't looking wildly around for an exit. She was at the airlock controls, confidently turning everything on. Sheridan realized what her plan was just as the warning lights began to flash. Was this worse? Was it worse to see her sucked out into space, than to see her turned into one of the slaves?

Then thought was gone, and the air inside the docking bay was pulled out along with everything else that wasn't secured. Sheridan kept his eyes open as long as he could, and saw boxes and barrels tumble out; saw Menendez spin end over end like a rag doll, his head striking the edge of the airlock; saw the Carnifex actually dig their claws into the floor and hang on for a moment before being sucked out themselves; saw the last Carnifex grab at the Minbari's leg to try and keep itself inside, the Minbari hanging onto the pilot, both of them suspended in the air; and then Sheridan saw nothing. His head came up and struck the bottom of the pipe, and he had just enough time before blackness swallowed him up to obscurely realize that the pressure from the air's evacuation had managed to pull his arm right back into the socket where it belonged.

He didn't stay in the black for long. He became aware that he was breathing, that the air was staying put for the time being. Sheridan shook his head, tried to lift it, and couldn't. What was the point, anyway? Delenn had sacrificed herself to save him, and he wanted it to be the other way around. He couldn't bear to look up and see the empty docking bay, know that her cold body was out there somewhere, drifting alone. But she wouldn't want him to give up. She had done this for him, and he would honor that.

Sheridan made himself look up, and she was standing there, looking at him. There was just enough time for a burst of joy to bloom in his stomach before he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The Minbari, still holding on to the leg of the female pilot, his hand digging through one of the pockets on her flight suit. Sheridan watched him pull out a knife, and then he was coming for him, crawling on the ground and leaving a trail of bright red blood behind him.

Sheridan couldn't help the instinctual movement and tried to pull away. He looked up - Delenn was pulling off a sock? That's what it looked like, and then she was walking their way. Sheridan could see that she was in pain, could see it in her face, but she made good time, and he thought that she would reach the Minbari before the Minbari reached him.

And then she stopped. She was looking vaguely in his direction, but her eyes clouded over, unfocused.

"Delenn?" No sign that she had heard him. Her sock dangled limply from her hand. "Delenn!" The Minbari was only a couple feet away, knife held out in front of him. He stopped crawling, and rolled over enough to watch Delenn. Laughed, and looked back at Sheridan, that evil good humor restored.

"So close, and yet we are all slaves to our own worst fears." He rolled back onto his stomach, began crawling again toward him, relentless. _So this is it._ He didn't know if Delenn would hear him, didn't know what the Minbari would do to her once he was done with him, but he wanted to say it to her, at least once.

"Delenn? I love you."

She had been looking at him with dead eyes, her face slack, but now she blinked. Seemed to come back to herself, and she looked all around in a panic. The Minbari was at Sheridan's knees and pushed himself up, that knife drawing ever closer. Delenn seemed to see the Minbari again, and Sheridan watched her face go hard and resolute.

The Minbari raised the knife, pulled it back for one final slice.

Delenn came up behind him, put her long sock around his throat, and pulled the ends in opposite directions, drawing the sock tight. She tugged the Minbari backwards just as he swung the knife forward, and Sheridan felt the tip of it whisper along his cheek. Delenn keened as she continued to garrote the Minbari, who slashed back at her with the knife. Sheridan was sure that he was going to end up stabbing her, but she managed to evade the blade, kept twisting her sock tight, and slowly the Minbari stopped fighting, finally slumping on the floor. Delenn pulled the sock away, then put her fingers to the Minbari's throat. Sheridan could only watch as she tied his hands together with her sock, and wondered why she was bothering; he was clearly unconscious, if not already dead.

Then he stopped thinking of anything at all, because she was kneeling in front of him, only inches away. The threat of danger finally past, and she was here, right here, safe and sound. She brought one hand up to his cheek.

"What did I tell you?" she asked, and Sheridan just shook his head mutely. She smiled at him, bringing her face close, whispering against his lips. "I told you not to do anything that would require me to rescue you." She kissed him then, softly; a benediction.

They might have stayed like that forever if the remaining sane captive, the maintenance worker restrained not two feet away from Sheridan, hadn't finally blurted out: "Can you please untie me?"

xxx

_1245 hours_

The maintenance worker - Rudolf, from Prague - had finally left them twenty minutes ago, vowing to run forward and bring back help. They had struggled forward a little while longer, but now that the last of the adrenaline was fading away, Sheridan finally ran out of steam.

Now they were sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, her back against his chest. She was cradling her broken arm in her lap, and he winced at the purple mottling running up and down the skin there; she had confessed to him already about her broken ribs and her shoulder, and she seemed to be having a hard time walking, too. He wondered how long she'd been running around barefoot.

He brought one of his hands up, laid it on her chest and felt her heartbeat under his palm. His fingers brushed against her brooch, which he had pinned back onto her slip when they'd sat down, so it wouldn't dig into her back. She hadn't said anything when he did that, only leaned her head back against his shoulder, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Sheridan had kissed her bone crest, and he did it again now; it was the only part of her he could reach without jostling her. She shivered lightly, and Sheridan was sure that she was cold, in nothing but a thin slip. He hoped she was getting some of his body heat. He tried not to worry about things like shock.

After Rudolf had interrupted them, Delenn had retrieved the knife and cut Sheridan's bonds, and he had cut the ropes securing the other man. Together they had dragged the Minbari to the pipe and tied him up.

"Why don't you just kill him?" Rudolf asked, a tremor in his voice.

"I have some questions," Delenn answered, her voice cold. Then they had left, the other three still tied up; now they looked like confused children, heads turning this way and that, naive frowns on their faces. Maybe Franklin could do something for them; it was hard to say.

Sitting on the floor, resting for the first time in hours and hours; Sheridan had no idea what time it was, how long he'd been in Brown Sector, running around first looking for Delenn, then avenging her. He still couldn't quite believe that she was here, that she was okay. He wanted to ask her what had happened in that corridor, why he had found her dress in a pool of blood; he wanted to ask her where she had been, what had happened to her; he wanted to ask her how she'd broken her ribs. He wanted to ask her why she had stopped like that, just a few feet from the Minbari, like she'd been turned off. But now was not the time. Now he was just going to hold her, one arm loose around her waist, the other holding her heartbeat; he was just going to feel the tickle of her hair against his face; he was just going to listen to her breathe.

Footsteps coming their way. Sheridan didn't move except to drop his hand from her chest, grab the knife at his side. But they were human faces, Zack in the lead, everyone grinning good, human grins. They were all shouting something, glad voices crying out, but Sheridan just let it all drift into noise, closed his eyes, and rested his head against Delenn's.


	10. Evaluation

Evaluation

_12 February 2260_

_0700 hours_

Three more had died during the night. Two Centauri who had never made it out of their rooms; two heart attacks in the dark; alone, scared. Over a full day before anyone came to help. Franklin couldn't think of anything that could have been done differently, but it still gnawed at him. The third was the female pilot who had been poisoned with the Carnifex blood. He had thought yesterday she was responding well to their newest idea, but apparently she'd had another seizure in the night, and this time she didn't pull through.

Franklin finished reading last night's log, wishing he'd been here - he couldn't help but feel that if he had, he could have saved her. The other four poisoned slaves - the two maintenance workers from the aft docking bay, a Brakiri hustler and a Minbari worker found still guarding a room in Grey Twelve hours after the last Carnifex was dead - were all still critical, in drug-induced comas while they ran their tests.

Franklin was beginning to fear he wouldn't be able to fix them.

He needed to start his rounds. Sand in his eyes - he'd had a fitful night's sleep, tossing and turning, never seeming to fall any deeper than a doze. There was a stim in his desk that was calling to him, but he wanted to wait till at least after lunch. Garibaldi had been sleeping last night when he checked on him, but all his read-outs looked good. He'd let him go today. Ivanova had demanded release yesterday, and Franklin had allowed it - he was too tired to fight with her, and if he hadn't signed her out, she would have just left anyway. The last he'd seen of her, she was still too pale, and he ordered her to check in every day; he wasn't holding his breath.

"How's it going?" he asked Leshke, who was putting his Babcom back together. Maintenance was going to be backed up for weeks, so anyone who had any kind of technical expertise was being rustled up to help.

"Good," she said, and Franklin knew he wouldn't get anything more than that. He grabbed his diagnostic and a clipboard, feeling petulant and old. Everyone else seemed to have gotten a few days off to rest; after the Carnifex had been destroyed he'd been right back at work, barely a moment to breathe since. But that was how it usually went.

Before he started, he took the stim. Fuck it.

xxx

_0730 hours_

Sheridan woke up in stages. The first stage was pain. Not so bad now, but his pills had worn off during the night. It was the puncture wounds in his arm that hurt the most, which surprised him, since he'd nearly forgotten about his fight with that single Carnifex almost immediately after it happened. They were starting to itch under the pain, and Sheridan knew he was going to fight scratching at them all day.

The next stage was warmth. He'd forgotten how soft his bed was, how thick and heavy his blankets, how perfect his pillows. A nice, warm cocoon, and it would have been hard enough to get out of bed anyway, if he had been alone.

The last stage was Delenn. He could feel her hip against his, her stomach under his arm. Sheridan opened his eyes, and her face was turned his way, relaxed in sleep. This was the third morning he had awakened to this sight; her door was still broken, and she had made maintenance put her name at the bottom of the to-do list. They were in no hurry. Lennier had moved her valuables into a rented room, but she hadn't set foot inside. There had never been any discussion that she would stay with him; they hadn't needed one.

There had been few survivors who had been beat up worse than her, but she had categorically refused to spend the night in Medlab, and Franklin hadn't seemed in the mood to argue. After she'd had her ribs wrapped tightly, her arm put in a cast, her shoulder popped back into its socket, and her feet bandaged - while Sheridan had his own injuries, seemingly minor in comparison, taken care of - they'd hobbled up to his quarters and slept like the dead. Sheridan hated leaving the station essentially in the hands of Lieutenant Corwin, but he had been in no state to make any decisions.

The last two days had been a blur. Ships had piled up outside. While Sheridan was grateful that Mr. Lennier had managed to "recruit" so many fighters, Green Sector was in chaos, nearly a quarter of the rooms with hacked door mechanisms needing to be repaired. Zack had needed to put almost half the station's security there to keep looting from getting out of hand. Most of the population had been trapped for over twenty-four standard hours, and many had not handled it well. But all things considered, they were back on their feet, and with a little bit of luck (the last thing he needed was a new crisis), things would be back to normal soon.

Sheridan reached up and brushed the hair back from Delenn's face, still fighting moments when he couldn't believe she was alive, that she was real. He still didn't know what had happened to her after she'd been dragged out of the water reclamation room by the Minbari; the one time he had asked, she had told him that she didn't want to talk about it. Something in her voice told him that now was not the time to press.

He hadn't meant to wake her, but her eyes fluttered open, and her cheek curved up into the palm of his hand as she smiled. He ran his thumb over her temple and the place where her bone crest blended into her skin. Sheridan didn't know how much time he had before he would need to get up and get going - not enough.

"You're watching me sleep," she murmured. He nodded, moving his hand down to her neck, running his fingers through the hair at the base of her head. Scratched her scalp there, and smiled at the way her eyes slid closed again. "What did you see?"

"You looked like you were having a nice dream," he answered. She'd had a nightmare night before last, had actually woke him up with a good, hard slap in the face as she'd thrashed about. He'd had to hold her for nearly an hour before she stopped shivering.

"It was nice. I was on Minbar, up in the mountains. We were building a temple, and I was in charge of the flowers." She opened her eyes again, and Sheridan wondered if she knew that she possessed him completely, if she could see it in his eyes. "It seemed quite logical while I was dreaming."

"Dreams always do." A shadow passed over her face then, and again he wanted to ask her what had happened to her. What the Minbari had done. Instead, he kept his voice light. "Will you be at the meeting this afternoon?"

"Yes. I also have a few things I would like to accomplish this morning. I have a feeling the meeting will run long."

"What kind of things? Anything I can do for you?"

"I am tired of being cooped up. Besides, I am perfectly capable of walking where I need to go."

"I know." Damn it, but it would be nice just for once if one of the women he fell in love with would occasionally let him take care of her. All of them, headstrong, independent, far stronger than they appeared. It was a Catch-22; that was why he loved them. Delenn looked like she was preparing for whatever argument he would make next - he could see a little list growing behind her eyes - so he leaned over and kissed her. Slow and gentle, just the simple pressure of lips on lips; it would be awhile before they'd be able to do anything other than just look at first base. Sheridan could feel her relax, and he ran his hand gently along as much of her as he could. He knew Minbari weren't as physically demonstrative as humans, but she wasn't complaining, and he felt like he needed to touch her whenever he could.

Then his alarm went off, and she jumped a little more than the quiet beeping justified. Sheridan rolled over, feeling eighty years old, and turned it off. Rolled back over, and she had turned her head to look the other way. There was nothing over there but wall, and he wondered what she was thinking about. He kissed her neck, more as an excuse to draw a big breath of her into his lungs, then forced himself out of bed. He had a hundred things to do before the meeting and nearly all of them unpleasant, but they wouldn't get done if he didn't get going. He pulled on his uniform, wincing at every movement, then turned, expecting to see her watching him, that soft smile on her face. But she was still looking at the wall, and when he left, he did so with the first cloud of worry growing inside.

xxx

_0800 hours_

Garibaldi had always loved walking the station. Out on his feet, up and down the corridors, through the different sectors, seeing as many faces as he could. It was the only way to really know the mood of the station, and he couldn't do his job if he didn't know whether people were jumpy or happy or anxious or angry. He couldn't walk much today; Franklin had released him from Medlab with a stern warning that if he pushed himself, he'd risk pneumonia or another collapsed lung - or both. Moreover, Zack had assured him that he had everything under control, and that Garibaldi should take some time off and get himself healed back up. Still, he wanted to see at least a little before the meeting, and he wanted to get back into the swing of things.

He was walking through Red Sector, and it was disconcerting, seeing the empty booths, the food carts with no jostling, angry queues in front; strange to be able to walk freely down the central corridor without running into one of every type of alien on B5 within ten minutes. A lot of people didn't seem to feel quite ready to come out into the open yet, and he couldn't really blame them. Garibaldi himself felt that the station had revealed itself, not as the friend and home he'd thought it to be, but as a knife ready to twist and cut the hand that held it. He found himself tensing up as he approached bends and corners, holding his breath when he heard someone approach.

Worst of all, Garibaldi found himself wishing he could have a drink. He kept replaying that long moment at the edge of Grey Sector, Ivanova unconscious beside him on the floor, the three Carnifex coming his way. He had given up, closed his eyes and waited to be torn to shreds, just for the promise of a drink. He knew that staying sober was a battle that would never truly end, but he'd thought he was doing better than that. Had he really chosen alcohol over his own life? Was that what he was reduced to, when everything went to shit and he was out of options?

There was a rare spirits shop up ahead; Centauri Brevari and real Earth wines and that Brakiri drink that tasted like motor oil but burned for hours in the absolute best way. For the first time since he'd been on the station, Garibaldi went inside.

xxx

_0830 hours_

Delenn rang the bell again and waited, far longer than it would have taken anyone to answer the door in such small quarters, even though she knew that if Laetitia were inside, she had decided not to answer. She had come down yesterday, as well, and had been met with similar silence.

She was closer to the room Lennier had rented for her than she was to John's quarters, and she needed to pick up a few things anyway, so she headed that way. She didn't like the way the pain medication Dr. Franklin had prescribed for her made her head feel - fuzzy and disconnected - so she didn't take it this morning. She hadn't had a choice the day before, with John hovering nearby, but thankfully he had left this morning before she'd even dressed herself. Everything hurt, maybe even worse than that long day, but Delenn relished the pain, made herself feel it as much as she could. She deserved it.

Inside the little rented room, furnished with the bare minimum, her belongings stacked in such a way that she could barely navigate to the com unit. Once there, she turned the system on, then stood in front of the blue light for a long time, not seeing the screen in front of her but a ship from long ago. Smoke and dead bodies and screams. Dukhat whispering something to her, but she could not understand his words. _No mercy!_ she had screamed, and war had followed. John had fought in that war, had been defined in large measure by that war. Had lost friends and family in that war. And she was the cause, she had set it into motion, started them all down that road that led only to death and ruin. She slept beside him in his bed, let him touch her and kiss her; she was so selfish. If he knew, he would hate her, just as the John from her nightmare had, the John that had spit at her and pushed her away. He would never know, not unless she told him, and if she didn't, that was the worst lie of all.

Delenn was standing in front of the com unit, and she could have been there for ten minutes or ten hours; she had no way of knowing. Her ribs hurt so much she could barely keep standing.

"Record message from Ambassador Delenn for Registered Telepath Laetitia Barberini. Laetitia, I hope this message finds you well. I wished to tell you that if it were not for you and your strength I would not have survived this recent ordeal. I know that I dragged you into great danger, and then abandoned you. There is no way I can ever adequately apologize. I can only say this: I could not have left him. I do not ask you to understand or forgive. I only want to wish you joy."

xxx

Laetitia never heard that message, was at that moment negotiating with the Corps to purchase her a ticket back to Mars. She left two days later, and never set foot on Babylon 5 again.

xxx

_0930 hours_

Ivanova felt good. Better than good, she felt great. Better than great, she felt fan-fucking-tastic. Sure, she was still tired, and her side still hurt like a son of a bitch, and she was going to be busy every second she was awake for the foreseeable future, but she had survived. Survived a real fight, out in the trenches, not just standing around in C and C telling other people what to do. She still felt a little high from the whole experience - although part of that might just be the good stuff Franklin had put her on.

Down to the brig, and there was only one prisoner who mattered - the Minbari. Ivanova could have watched through the monitors, but she really wanted to see the bastard's face. Past the guards, the Minbari telepaths resting outside the door between interrogation sessions, and there he was, chained up securely to a chair. Awake, and looking at her. Ivanova smiled at him and wished she could have ten minutes with him all to herself - but she was well aware that everything was being recorded.

"How're you feeling?" Ivanova made herself lean up against the wall just as easy as could be, even though she could feel the knife wound complain like a motherfucker at the angle. The Minbari said nothing, just glared up at her with his remaining eye. "I bet they're not pumping you full of those nice painkilling meds like I've got. I bet those little scratches I gave you just hurt like the dickens right about now. See, I hear that without your little monster buddies, you're not quite as powerful as you used to be. Not able to block out all that pain on your own."

Ivanova waited, but the Minbari stayed silent. She didn't think she'd ever seen so much hate on a face before. She was glad the chains were there. "Guess what? We captured your little ship. The one that was coming to pick you up." Did his eye twitch at that? "Found lots more of those little zombies of yours. And there was someone else..."

That did it. He lunged at her, only moving an inch or so before the chains bit into his arms and legs and torso. Ivanova smiled again, and leaned down good and close.

"I promise, once we figure out what we're going to do with her, we'll let you know."

xxx

_1430 hours_

The command staff wasn't scheduled to meet in the conference room for another half-hour, but Sheridan found himself walking that direction anyway. He was a little cranky, the way he got when he felt tired and overworked, and he was hungry but didn't have much of an appetite. What he really wanted was to see Delenn - the sight of her face alone was like a balm for all that troubled him. He'd been thinking about her, about the way she'd turned away to just stare at the wall. She'd been through a traumatic experience, so it wasn't surprising that she was taking some time to deal with it. Still, he wondered if he should suggest she talk about it; if not to him, then to a counselor or something.

Franklin and Garibaldi were already in the conference room, on opposite sides of the table, just sitting there silently. Sheridan sat down himself. There was a weird vibe in the room, the silence strained and not at all companionable. Sheridan found he couldn't quite bring himself to break it, so he looked through his papers, not really reading the words on the pages. Ivanova and Zack joined them, and finally Delenn.

He could tell the minute she walked into the room that she was in pain - too much pain. Sheridan wondered whether she'd remembered to take her pills this morning. He smiled up at her, but she didn't even glance his way, just sat down and looked at her hands.

"Okay," Sheridan said, knowing that he was going to be distracted over her the whole meeting now, "why don't we start with you, Stephen." Franklin took a long beat before answering.

"Six hundred twenty-three casualties. A quarter of those from the interruption of medical services only. The Brakiri and Minbari poisoned by Carnifex blood died this morning. The other two...I'd be surprised if they were still alive by this time tomorrow. The same goes for the half-dozen we found on the Minbari's ship. Without the Minbari controlling them, their bodies seem to fight to reject the Carnifex blood - we're seeing seizures, cardiac arrest. I don't know..."

Stephen trailed off, and Sheridan felt bad for him. He knew that the doctor hated losing patients at the best of times, and having to sign over six hundred death certificates in just a few days was definitely taking its toll. It seemed everyone else felt the same way, and that silence descended again. Sheridan glanced over at Franklin, but the doctor was staring at a paper in front of him. Sheridan didn't even think, but dropped his eyes to what Franklin was reading.

_Pros: Work longer, more shifts._

_Cons: Becoming a son of a bitch._

Before Sheridan could even begin to think about what that meant, Stephen went on. "We've done autopsies on several more of the Carnifex corpses. The ones who died in Green Sector, who had drank the contaminated blood, didn't reveal much; the Vitamin C continued to eat through their flesh and especially their brains long after they died. But there were two bodies in relatively good condition that let us learn quite a bit: they were riddled with cancers and tumors, and they're radioactive. Once we get back on track, I want everyone who had any contact with one, even if they were just in the same room, to come in for treatment. If the stories are right and they live in the voids between stars, they probably use nuclear power. Maybe unshielded. You probably noticed that they didn't have eyes; the optic nerve was there but atrophied. That's all I can say for sure right now; we'll be running tests for a long time." Another heavy silence fell, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Sheridan tried to imagine the home of the Carnifex, out in the dead of space, populated by blind, radioactive monsters, and could not.

Zack finally broke the silence. "Green Sector's getting all locked up again. Probably will be done in a day or two. Maintenance is really busting their ass out there; have we thought about maybe giving them a bonus?"

"Don't know that we have the money for that," Sheridan said, knowing that Zack was right. "I'll see what we can do, though."

"I asked the Minbari telepaths what they'd learned," Ivanova said, shifting a bit in her chair. Sheridan watched as she brought up a hand to her side, seemingly unconsciously. "But they said they weren't authorized to tell me anything. I assume they reported to you, Ambassador?"

Sheridan looked up at Delenn, and winced when he saw how tired she looked. Tired, and pained, and he wondered if she were coming down with something; her skin looked nearly transparent, her eyes fever-bright. She spoke without her usual strong, confident manner; quietly, sentences trailing off, addressing the table rather than the people sitting around it.

"The Minbari's name is Jallenn. A telepath, the equivalent of a human P12. At least, as he was evaluated eight years ago, before he left Minbar as part of a diplomatic mission to a newly discovered race on the edge of civilized space. The ship never returned and was presumed to have been lost in hyperspace. Looking through his records, there is nothing that indicates he would become such a vicious individual; before his disappearance, Jallenn was a valued member of his caste and clan, always performing his work in the best tradition of Minbari service.

"The telepaths have learned much from his mind. His ship was boarded by the Carnifex, who killed everyone on board except for Jallenn and his sister, a telepath herself. Jallenn negotiated with the Carnifex telepathically, and swore his allegiance to them in return for his sister's survival. Apparently, the Carnifex were having a harder and harder time controlling their puppets - too many millennia of divergent evolution. The Carnifex gave Jallenn something more than just allowing his sister to live; they were able to amplify his telepathic powers, and it seems that it was this more than anything else that eventually corrupted him."

"His sister, was she involved in any of this? I mean, what are we going to do with her?" Ivanova asked, looking like she could think of any number of things she'd like to do to her.

Delenn paused, and just when Sheridan thought she wouldn't answer, she finally said in a low voice, "She has lost her mind. She will be sent home to Minbar, where her physical needs will be met with as much charity as is possible."

"And Jallenn?"

"The Grey Council does not wish for his involvement in the attack on Babylon 5 to be known. They are willing to allow you to choose whichever punishment you wish in return for your discretion." Sheridan didn't know if she was talking to him specifically or to the command staff as a whole. He knew that in the end, the decision would be his.

"Is there anything else?" he asked the room, and there was no answer from anyone. Ivanova looked at him with jaw set, and he knew she was probably already making a list of ways they could "punish" the Minbari, and would likely figure out how many they could get through before finally killing him. Zack was looking around like he didn't recognize the others, who were all lost in their own thoughts, looking at their notes or their hands or the table.

Sheridan gathered up his notes, feeling a bit piqued. Yes, they were all tired and overworked and most of them were still plenty banged up, but why did everyone seem so goddamn morose? Hadn't they won? Everyone else took the silence following his question as the signal to leave, and within a minute the room had emptied out. All except for Delenn, slowly rising out of her chair, clearly having difficulty doing so.

"Let me help you," he said, going over to take her arm, but she pushed herself upright and adroitly turned away from him before he could get to her side. He walked her to the door, wondering what he had done or said, that now she wouldn't even look at him. "Are you going to be okay getting back to my quarters? I have a couple things I have to take care of."

He didn't think she would answer him. "I'll be fine," she finally said, and still without ever once looking at him the entire time they'd been in the same room together, she left. Sheridan watched as Lennier, who had been waiting outside, came up and asked her something. She spoke to him briefly and continued on her way, leaving her Minbari aide looking as taken aback as Sheridan himself felt.

xxx

_1630 hours_

Lennier waited outside the conference room for Delenn; the other members of the command staff started leaving, all on their own, no conversation at all. Everyone's faces seemed drawn, anxious. Lennier didn't think anyone could look more unhappy than either Mr. Garibaldi or Dr. Franklin until he saw Delenn, walking slowly beside the Captain, the last ones to leave.

It wasn't surprising, the two of them lingering together after a meeting; they had been doing so for months. Usually they talked more animatedly than this, though; Sheridan had his head bent low next to hers, his face intense, and Lennier could tell that Delenn was barely listening, that she had retreated into herself. They paused for a moment in the threshold, and the Captain was staring at her with such an angry, almost possessive look that Lennier found himself involuntarily taking a step forward. But then Delenn said something and started walking his way, the Captain remaining behind, looking confused.

He waited until she had nearly reached him, which took longer than he would have expected, but she was walking more slowly than usual. "Delenn? Several Minbari merchants who were aboard Babylon 5 during this latest crisis wished to speak with you before they departed."

"They will have to wait. I have something I must attend to." Without waiting for his response, Delenn left. Lennier looked, but Sheridan had turned away as well. Lennier thought about what he had just witnessed.

He had spent the last few days stewing about how foolish he had been to make the same mistake twice. Before, when Delenn was being held by the Inquisitor, Lennier had obeyed her wish that he not interfere, and instead had run to tell Sheridan about what was taking place. Not long after he had informed the Captain about the situation, Delenn had called him from her quarters to tell him that everything was fine, that she was well. Lennier had had only a moment to feel relieved before he'd heard Sheridan's voice, asking her a question, right there in her quarters. After that, they had seemed much closer than before. Lennier hadn't known exactly what their relationship entailed until a few days ago, when again he did not go in to rescue her himself, but left it to someone else. He knew she had not been sleeping in her rented room; she had been sleeping with Sheridan, and every time he thought about it Lennier found himself overwhelmed with guilt, with anger, with a horrible sense of loss.

But now he wondered if maybe he hadn't interpreted everything incorrectly. They did not appear happy together; far from it. They had just left in opposite directions. Delenn normally was not preoccupied, was usually very attentive to anyone's request to speak with her. Something was wrong. Lennier would have to make doubly sure that he was ready to respond to anything she asked of him as quickly as he could. Perhaps Sheridan was simply too busy the last few days to pay much attention to her. Lennier would be there for anything she needed. That was his place.

As he headed back toward Green Sector, Lennier couldn't help the small smile that played over his face.

xxx

_1930 hours_

Delenn had almost finished packing her few possessions that had been moved into John's quarters - mostly clothes, which had managed to spread themselves far and wide. Some still neatly folded on his couch, one set of robes hanging in his closet, one set in the thermal unit, and one set she found under the edge of the bed, badly wrinkled. She tried to remember if she had undressed that first afternoon, when they finally made it back to his quarters after being attended to in Medlab; that first day after the Carnifex had been defeated was a general blur, and besides, she wouldn't let herself focus.

If she focused, if she thought about what she was doing, she was afraid she'd lose what tiny scrap of willpower she had left. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to spend the night alone in a strange bed, didn't want to wake up in the morning without his warm presence beside her. But she had to. There was more at stake here than just her personal feelings, and she could not continue to lie to him. So she folded her nightgown and gathered up the few things she had in his bathroom and packed everything into the one bag she had. No matter if everything wrinkled; she could deal with it later. She didn't think she would be able to make another trip up here.

She was just finishing up when she heard his door open behind her. She heard John stop right where he was, just inside the door; she could feel him looking at her. Delenn remembered when she dropped her brush; it had taken her nearly five minutes to bend down and retrieve it. If she hadn't been so clumsy, she would have been well on her way by now, and would not have had to deal with what promised to be a difficult confrontation.

Delenn stood, arranged her bag over her shoulder. She would just have to make this quick; besides wanting to avoid as much unpleasantness as she could, she didn't know how much longer she would be able to stand.

"Where are you going?" He already sounded hurt, and Delenn ruthlessly pushed away the emotions the sound of his voice conjured up; she wanted to comfort him, wanted to reassure him that everything was fine, wanted to kiss him and feel his arms around her. But she couldn't do that; not now, not ever.

"I am going to the room Lennier rented for my use. Thank you for allowing me to stay here the last few days." She walked toward the door, but he stayed right where he was. She couldn't get around him without touching him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

"What is this?" She couldn't make herself meet his eyes, so she stared at the golden bar of his rank on his chest, kept her eyes fixed on it. Five minutes. All she had needed was five minutes.

"There is a war coming with the Shadows. That war must take priority over everything else."

"Why does that mean you have to go?"

"I cannot be with you. And you do not want to be with me."

"That's not true!"

"It is. There are things that you don't know about me. If you did... We will have to work together, rely on one another. That is all that matters."

"Delenn-"

"Don't," she cut him off. Did he know how helpless he made her feel? Just a few more moments, and he would break her, with nothing more than his voice, sounding betrayed and broken. Delenn stepped forward again, face only inches from his chest, and still he wouldn't move. "Please let me go," she said, dismayed that the words came out in only a whisper.

"Delenn..." And now she did look up at him, unable to stop. Something inside her broke at the look on his face, knowing that she had caused it. She tried to keep her face impassive, and knew she was failing. But he only dropped his eyes, nodded, biting on his cheek. "Can I...can I carry your bag down for you?" His kindness even in this threatened to undo her completely, so she just shook her head, not trusting to speak. He finally stepped aside, but before she could move forward he put a hand on her shoulder.

"You're wrong," he said. "I just want you to know that before you leave. There's nothing you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you."

"You should not say such things, John."

"Do you not want to be with me? Is there something I've said or done?"

She shook her head wildly, appalled that he could even think such a thing. "No, no."

"How can you make this kind of decision for me? How can you know that I wouldn't want you?"

"Because there are things-"

"Things I don't know about you. I refuse to accept that. I refuse to believe that there is anything, _anything_, that you could tell me that would change my feelings for you."

"You will have to believe it."

"I won't. I never will. I love you, Delenn."

"The war was my fault!" She hadn't meant to say it, and now it was too late to take it back, but perhaps this was the only way. Right now John still looked surprised and not much more, but she knew that would change soon, so Delenn dropped her eyes back to his chest. "I had just become Satai. I was on the _Valen'tha_ when the _Prometheus_ fired upon it. Our leader died in my arms. Four voted to wait, to see what had gone wrong. Four voted to immediately return fire, to go to war. I was the deciding vote. I voted for war."

Delenn waited. She could hear John breathing, but he said nothing. She knew that she could probably leave it at that, but found herself going on anyway. Even as she spoke, she wondered at the self-destructive urge she felt, wondered why she was determined to ruin everything.

"I didn't just vote for war, though. I called for our warriors to be merciless. I wanted the human race destroyed. The humans have been told before that the Minbari as a species went mad, but I do not think that to be true. It would be better to say that I went mad, and everyone came tumbling along with me. Afterwards, too long afterwards, when I regained my senses, it was already too late. No matter what I did to try and stop the horrors unfolding, no matter how hard I worked, it seemed the inertia of violence was too strong. It doesn't matter that I was eventually able to convince the warriors to stand down, the Grey Council to surrender; it doesn't change what I did. Nothing ever will."

Delenn felt empty, purged of the guilt she had carried with her for over ten years, the guilt that not even the Chrysalis had been able to expiate. She had never truly confessed these things to herself, let alone to anyone else. As the silence lengthened, despair slowly crept into the emptiness. She had known his rejection of her would happen, but knowing something and finally experiencing it are two very different things.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and turned to go. Again, John stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She waited for him to strike her, to shake her, to say the awful things that she couldn't stop hearing, not even when he had held her and kissed her in his bed. But instead, his other hand came up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. Delenn made herself look up at him. She couldn't read his face, not at all, and they just stood like that for a moment.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, and at first she was sure she had misheard him. He asked her again, and she mutely shook her head. "I'll make you something to eat, and then you can take your pain pills." Now his other hand came up, brushing her hair back, and Delenn stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. "I don't know why you woke up this morning hell-bent on fucking everything up," he went on, "but you don't need to be skipping your pain pills. Minbari might be stronger than humans, but you're not invulnerable."

John put an arm around her waist, drew her close. For half a second, Delenn wondered if everything after she had opened the airlock had been a dream, a nightmare vision the Minbari had forced upon her; now he was giving her hope, only to snatch it away again. But this felt real, and as John kissed her on the forehead, Delenn began to realize that the nightmare wasn't going to come true.

"After you've had some dinner, you're going to take a nice, hot shower. Then I'm going to brush your hair, and rub your shoulders, and put you in bed. My bed." He challenged her then with a look to tell him otherwise, and Delenn couldn't. She just nodded, let him pull her against him, let him put his arms around her and rest his head on top of hers.

She hoped he wasn't waiting for her to let go first. She wasn't planning to do so any time soon.

xxx

_14 February 2260_

_1500 hours_

Sheridan only had about fifteen minutes before his next meeting, so of course today was the day Red Sector got back up to speed. The shops were crowded even more so than they usually were, or at least that was how it seemed. He knew that Delenn didn't know anything about Valentine's Day, but he wanted to get her something anyway. What to get her, though? Everything looked too garish or cheap or useless. Sheridan hated shopping, especially for girls. He always hoped something would jump out at him, preferably with a sign that said _this is the perfect gift!_, but nothing ever did.

It would be easier if she were human, and he could just pick her up some lingerie, chocolates and flowers. _Lingerie..._ But no, he wasn't going to start thinking about that just yet. He finally settled on a pair of earrings; she'd worn earrings to their dinner date the year before, but he'd never seen her wear any since. These were pretty little crystals - amethysts, he thought; almost the same color as one of the crystals in her pin. He hoped she would like them.

Now he was running late, and he jogged out of Red Sector. Jogging hurt. He was going to feel like an old man for awhile yet. He didn't even see Kosh until he'd passed the alien. Sheridan stopped, turned back - that encounter suit just loomed in the corridor, filling him with the same vague sense of unease and unworthiness and wonder all mixed together he always felt in the Vorlon's presence.

"Ambassador?" he asked, unsure if Kosh had even wanted to speak to him at all. But nothing with Kosh ever seemed to be a coincidence, so he thought it likely. The Vorlon didn't answer, but just as Sheridan was getting ready to apologize and move on, the tinkling bells that signaled that the ambassador was speaking sounded out.

"You did well." Sheridan waited for more, but no more was forthcoming.

"Thank you." Kosh turned and drifted away down the corridor. Sheridan stood there a moment, wondering how one being could always be so damned obtuse, and then jogged back the other way toward his meeting.


End file.
